


Rouge

by lunarsugar



Category: Breaking Benjamin (Band), John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarsugar/pseuds/lunarsugar
Summary: You are a badass lawyer to the rich and powerful. After a bad night at work, you head to your usual dive, Rouge, to find a mysterious stranger claiming to be an entertainer, who captivates you.





	1. The Entertainer

It had been a hell of a week at work, filled with demanding divas and demeaning bosses, asking the impossible on a daily basis, but when you work in a law firm that represents rich bitches and newly divorced rich bitches looking to take more of their no-longer-necessary husband’s wealth, what can you expect? Sunshine and roses are really only available when the paychecks come through, and even then, it’s like running a marathon to get that money. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth the stress, but seeing six figures seems to answer that question for me every single time. 

Suffice to say, the last thing I wanted to do after a week of cheating spouses, negotiating divorce agreements, and being screamed at from anyone and everyone, was go home to the cold emptiness of a house and drink alone. 

And so, here I was, once again, like every weekend (and like most shitty weekdays) pushing the door to my red Lexus open, stiletto heels tapping soundly on the ground, feet screaming to be free from their closed quarters, standing outside the entrance to the converted warehouse. I reached up to the sky, stretching out my tired muscles, and adjusted my tight bodycon dress because there was nothing that spoke to the wealthy benefactors and recent divorcees more than the curves of a single woman wrapped in a skintight red dress that left just enough to the imagination to make them malleable. 

I checked my makeup in the mirror, putting on a little more red lipstick and smoothing out the flyaways on the sides of my head, before shutting the door to my Lexus, locking it, and heading into Rouge.

Rouge was home to Andy, the bartender of every woman’s fantasies. The bar rarely had a seat left open, and if it wasn’t for Andy reserving a seat for me, I wouldn’t even have a place to sit because it was full of thirsty women looking to get laid or at least catch the attention of the notorious Andy Olivar. Andy was a tall man who obviously loved the gym as much as he loved the bar. He had a beautifully toned body, dark caramel colored skin, perfectly coiffed deep chocolate hair, and piercing blue eyes. Andy knew he had a good think going for him and flaunted it with well tailored shirts and pants. When he spoke, his velvety Latin accident and soft suede aroma caused most of the ladies to swoon.

I tucked my clutch under my arm, making my way across the hardwood floors of rouge, little tables scattered across the bar and dim lighting, making me relax almost right away. It almost had a coffee house vibe to it, and it was well loved and a gem to the locals.

I felt the heat of a few pairs of eyes boring into me from lusty men to jealous women as I sat down in my regular seat at the end of the bar, looking at the cougars at the other end of the bar whispering and making eyes at Andy, who winked at them to their delight, continuing to wipe down a pilsner glass in front of them, his hands deliberately making soft strokes up and down the length of the glass, before catching my eye. Andy’s face lit up into a huge smile and the faces of the cougars at the end of the bar grew putrid much to my delight. I stood to greet Andy, throwing my arms around him, and he kissed my cheek, purring,

“You look ravishing as always, cariña.”

He poured a shot of whiskey and a chaser of dark beer, setting them both on the bar and taking my card to start a tab. 

As much as I didn’t want to go home and be a alone, being at Rouge wasn’t really all that different. I could talk to Andy every now and then, but for the most part, being here at the bar was more of a spectator sport for me as I watched Andy work his charm and smiled secretly to myself at how worked up the women tended to get. Every now and then a woman would come in who caught Andy’s attention, and I would find her waiting for him after closing time, but I rarely saw her again after that moment. On a few occasions, I could hear some delightful sounds coming from the stock room as well, and as much as I enjoy voyeurism, the thought of watching Andy fuck a woman was like walking in on your brother fucking his girlfriend—hard pass.

Tonight, however, felt a little stranger than normal. There was a new sort of thickness in the air that I hadn’t felt before. It almost felt like an odd sensation of anxiety. It only took me a moment to figure out the source of that tension: a strong pair of eyes was watching me from behind. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a shiver run down my spine. Hesitantly, I looked over my shoulder and made direct eye contact with him.

He was sitting in the back corner of the bar, a lit cigarette in his hand. Long, dark hair met with a short beard and moustache framed an olive colored face, thick eyebrows shading piercing black eyes. He was wearing a deep black suit with a high collar that made him seem even more intimidating. He raised his glass slightly to me, drinking the amber liquid, and I nodded in response, lifting the dark beer in my cup.

Something inside of me awakened, and a wire snapped into place between the two of us. I felt myself being pulled to him like a magnet. It was a raw attraction, primal almost. I turned toward him again, the orange glow of a cigarette being drug lit up those eyes that are still looking at me. 

I turned away quickly.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I admonished myself. Who was this guy? I was one bad bitch, and I wasn’t easily shaken by anyone—not even some of the most powerful politicians in the world could rattle me, and this guy, whom I barely knew had some bizarre hold over me.

Somewhere in my right mind, I knew I shouldn’t go to him—like every instinct in my fight or flight senses was telling me this wasn’t a safe situation, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to know who he was and why he made me feel this way. I found myself ordering another quick shot of whiskey, for liquid courage, and then taking a sip of beer to chase it and making my way toward him.

He leaned forward, interested in this new turn of events, and he gestured for me to sit down next to him. I nodded to him and he held his hand out, and saying,

“John.”

I almost laughed at the formality of it all because he didn’t seem the type for formal introductions, but I smiled and said,

“Demi.”

A hint of a smirk danced on his lips and he asked,

“What brings you here? And alone?”

I shrugged a little.

“I like this bar. It’s a bit of a dive, but it’s got its quirks...and it’s away from all of the bells and whistles of the new bars downtown. I prefer more of a chill experience when I’m going out to drink.”

He nodded, seeming to understand. The air thickened with that same strange kind of tension and I found myself tucking my hair behind my ear nervously, saying,

“And you?” 

He swirled the whiskey in his glass around a little, considering what to say.

“I’m on a...vacation from work.” 

I could tell he was choosing his words carefully, which filled me with the need to prod a little more,

“Oh? What do you do?”

He smiled a little, again considering his words,

“I’m in the entertainment business.”

“Like...adult entertainment?” Word vomit could not have come at a worse time. A smile unfolded across his face, and he erupted in laughter, asking,

“Is that what YOU think?”

I found myself laughing as well at the fact that I just insinuated that he was a stripper to his face. 

“I don’t know what to think. I guess, all things considered, you could be out there strutting your stuff in a banana hammock.” 

I shrugged, taking a sip of my beer and he roared with laughter, his hands covering his face, as he said between laughs,

“I can’t believe you just said banana hammock.”

“Banana hammock.” I laughed again, and we both fell into a fit of giggles, attracting the unwanted attention of a few salty cougars at the bar, who, upon seeing John, found themselves highly intrigued by this fine male specimen. 

“In all seriousness though, have we met before?” He quirked an eyebrow at me, dragging my attention away from the thirsty vultures at the bar. What a strange question to ask.

“If I had met you, I’m pretty sure I’d remember you. Someone like you would be hard to forget.” I smiled at him, taking a sip of my drink. His face fell a little at that comment.

“So then...you know me?” He sounded disappointed. I eyed him thoughtfully, trying to figure out what I could have possibly said to provoke that sort of response. I swirled my drink around, considering my next words, and said,

“I have never met you before in my life, nor have I ever seen you. I was trying to give you a compliment earlier when I said someone like you was hard to forget. I didn’t realize that saying you’re attractive was such a bad thing.”

He seemed relieved at my response, his shoulders relaxing. He laughed a little and explained,

“Look, I’m sorry, Demi. I wasn’t trying to kill the mood. It’s just...I usually prefer the company of strangers. They just seem to have,” he waved his hand in the air, looking for the right words, “less expectations of you.”

I blinked a few times. A man who prefers the company of strangers to the company of friends who works in the entertainment industry... “Besides,” he continued, “For once, it’s refreshing to not find you sitting here because I’ve paid you to be here...or even because you paid me to be here.” I sat back cautiously seeming to piece everything together,

“Yeah. Uh. I’m going to stop you right there. I’m not sure who you think I am, but I definitely have a well paying job, and I’m not looking to be part of your adult entertainment industry or anything.”

I held my hands up, scooting my chair back. John’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment and then a wave of realization seemed to dawn on him as he burst into laughter yet again. A few more heads turned to look our way in annoyance now and a few in curiosity as well, and I felt my face burning in embarrassment as I ducked my head a little to avoid their gaze.

“Demi,” he choked out between laughter, “I’m not a pimp, nor am I looking to try to recruit you as stripper...although I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”

“Oh god.” I buried my face in my hands. “And I have sufficiently made an ass of myself and insulted you all at the same time. Great! You know what? It’s been nice, John. Really, it’s been just a real treat.”

I pushed my chair back, downing the rest of my drink, and setting the glass down with a little more force than I had intended. John seemed a little surprised at this sudden change of pace, and he bit his lip to stifle the laughter that was threatening to break free.

“But I’m going to see myself back to the bar now. Goodnight.” And with that, I turned on my heel, heading to the bar, and ordering one final whiskey shot. 

Andy leaned forward, bright blue eyes glittering with concern as he asked,

“Uh, what the hell was going on over there?”

He tipped the Wild Turkey Honey upside down for a double shot, seeming to understand the gravity of my sheepishness.

“Oh, you know,” I shrugged taking the shot and downing it quickly, wincing at the burn. “The usual—just making a complete and total ass of myself in front of an incredibly attractive entertainer.”

“Entertainer?” Andy seemed just as confused as I was. He took the glass, replacing it with a chaser of dark beer. He looked over at John, and right at that moment, John locked eyes with Andy. Andy leaned in again, whispering, “Like...male entertainer?”

“See!” I waved my hand at Andy, swooping up the beer with my other hand. “Thank you! I’m glad I’m not the only one who went there with that statement.”

The fact that I also wasn’t the only one with a filthy mind made me feel so much better. What didn’t make me feel good was the alcohol that I subsequently sloshed all over myself in the process my tiny celebration. 

Andy sighed and grabbed the dish towel, leaning toward and blotting at my dress to try to get the beer out. “And you are officially buzzing.” Andy muttered, continuing to dab at my chest. I turned to look at the women at the other end of the bar, who were eyeing their drinks and considering dumping them on themselves. A few of them looked at me, then at their drinks. Subtly, I shook my head, and they sank back into their chairs, pouting a bit. At that moment, I peeked over at John and found an incredibly dark expression on his face. He almost looked...frustrated. His mouth was set into a hard line. I quickly turned away, swatting Andy’s hand away and tucking my hair behind my ear nervously. What the hell was that about?

“Jeez.” I huffed, pulling my phone out of my clutch and finding something to keep my attention away from John for the time being. “Excuse me,” his velveteen voice sent shivers down my spine. Out of the corner of my eye, the woman in the bar seat next to me turned to look at John, and then relinquished her seat to him. John leaned forward onto the bar, attracting Andy’s attention. “A nigroni, please.” He purred. Andy nodded, holding John’s eye contact to show that he wasn’t intimidated by him before turning his attention toward me. I nodded at him, feeling John’s eyes boring into me. At that, I felt even more frustrated.

“Oh, come on!” I griped, “What could you possibly want now?”

“A chance to get to know you.” John’s expression was serious, and his tone was very direct. Andy glanced over us.

“Why in the world would you want that?” I felt irritated at the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“Because you make me smile. Because you want to be around me...and not just because of my job.” Did I mention John was very direct? I raised my eyebrows at him, and his lips curved into a wry smile.

“What happened to you only conversing with strangers?” Suspicion crept into my voice as I eyed John. 

“I thought I’d try something new.” John shrugged. “Besides, if you thought I was a male entertainer or pimp this whole time, and you still stuck around to talk to me anyway, that tells me your expectations for me are incredibly low...and so is your opinion of me, for that matter, and I find that incredibly...”

John leaned forward, lips brushing my ear. An immediate heat pooled down in my stomach and I swallowed hard. Andy raised his eyebrows at this taboo display of affection in his presence.

“Fascinating.” John whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. At that moment, Andy was back at the bar, setting John’s drink down forcefully, the frothy head, spilling over the edge. “And how would you like to pay for that, sir?” Andy obviously did not like John Wick. John’s turned his attention, unwillingly, to Andy, reaching into his jacket for his deep leather wallet, and producing a black card. Andy plucked the card from John’s grasp. “Would you like to start a tab?” Andy’s impatience was evident...he did NOT want John Wick at his bar anymore than he had to be. I bit back a smile at the thought of Andy suddenly puffing up to his male competition. John’s eyes flickered over to Andy and then back to me, that hint of irritation returning to his tone.

“No tab tonight, thank you, Andy.” His voice was smooth. He turned his attention back to me and asked again,

“So, what do you say, Demi?”

Andy slapped John’s card and receipt on the bar—his timing as impeccable as ever.

“Unless you have other plans?” He asked, lightly pulling my hair behind my shoulders. I blinked a few times, trying to regain my composure at this surprising display of intimacy. Thankfully, John turned away from me long enough to sign the receipt, leaving Andy a healthy tip. I turned to face him, and John swiveled the bar seat to give me his full attention. I looked him directly in his eyes, and firmly said,,

“No plans.”

My voice sounded breathy and strained instead of the confident bitch I was trying to conjure up. At that response, John smiled, standing from the bar to the delight of the cougars on the other end, who had now taken a keen interest in John. 

“Well then,” John smiled, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a card. He handed me a shimmering black card, and I took it, my fingers grasping on to the velvety texture. I examined it,

“John Wick—Entertainer.”

I ran my fingers over the embossed silver lettering of his name. Beneath his name was his phone number. I looked up at him, and he said,

“Add this to your phone and text me your number.”

I nodded, trying to play it cool, even though I felt like my heart was trying to blow a hole through my chest, and put his number into my phone, texting him to hear the delightful ping of a text message alert from his end. He smiled, and raised his phone up to snap a picture of me. I raised my eyebrow in question.

“I want to remember tonight.” He shrugged. 

“Then I guess we’d better go make it memorable.” I grinned, arching an eyebrow deviously.

“What did you have in mind?” John sauntered forward, placing his hands on either side of me, close to my face now, and it was then that I realized we had attracted the attention of most of the bar, including a salty Andy, who crossed his arms at this display. What the hell? Why not give them the show they want?

I reached up, grabbing John’s tie and pulling him forward until his lips were just a few inches from mine, saying, 

“I can think of a few things.”


	2. John vs. the Inner Goddess

Ch 2

“I have to say...when you said you could think of ‘a few things for us to do,’” John grumbled, making air quotes with his fingers, “I didn’t really imagine a karaoke bar.”

I eyed John for a moment, raising my eyebrows and saying,

“I’m sure you didn’t...perv.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, you sort of did give off I’m-going-to-fuck-you vibes with the whole tie pulling and seductive I’m-going-to-kiss-you-but-not-really-because-I’m-a-tease thing.” He crossed his arms and scoffed. I glanced over at him, the corner of my mouth pulled into a smile.

“Fair enough.” I slammed the door to my Lexus that John was leaning against. He pushed off of my car and shoved his hands into his pockets, sulking like a sullen three-year-old. 

“Oh, come on!” I shoved him with my shoulder. “Lighten up, John.”

“It’s just...people may know me here.” He stopped walking, and I stopped as well.

“Why would they know you?” What was it with him and people who know him or don’t know him?

“Remember how I told you I was in the entertainment industry?” He was choosing his words carefully again.

“I remember. And how you said you preferred the company of strangers.” I smiled, trying to let him know I remembered our conversations well.

“Well, in some...circles, people recognize me for me work.” He seemed incredibly uncomfortable. I crossed my arms, shifting my weight to one leg.

“John, what is it that you do exactly?” I felt like he was hiding something from me—purposely keeping me in the dark...but why?

“I already told you, I’m an en—“

“I swear to God if you say entertainer one more time...”

John looked a bit taken a back at that statement.

“Well that was a little aggressive.” He laughed.

“And this whole man of mystery thing is getting a little old.” I griped. John’s smile faded quickly as he could see that quip wasn’t getting him far.

“I’m going to ask one more time. Let’s get this out in the open so I can understand why public places are off limits to you.” I wanted to stand firm and know that I wasn’t walking into a situation that could be harmful to either of us in any way, and the way he was acting scared me a little. “What do you do?”

John kicked at a pebble in the parking lot, hands fidgeting noticeably in his pockets. He closed his eyes and let it out,

“I’m a musician.”

“A musician.” I repeated, arching an eyebrow. “Like...a classical musician? A singer? What does that mean?”

“I play guitar...and I dabble in singing.” He seemed bashful to admit this.

“That’s awesome! You’ll fit right in here, John. There’s nothing to be embarrassed of.” I laughed. “God, for a second you had me worried you were a merc or something.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I just don’t want to cause a scene.” He cut me off quickly, frustration showing through.

“Why would you cause a scene?” My smile faded.

“People know my band.” He said simply. “We are...local.”

“Okay. That’s cool. Local bands are a huge thing now.” I felt the need to encourage him—to validate his feelings and make him feel deserving of the attention.

“I guess I just wanted you all to myself. I don’t want to share my attention with anyone else, and I don’t want you sharing your attention with someone else.” He stepped forward, sliding a hand around my waist, a warm feeling of possession spreading through me. I tried to push it away, wondering if it was possible that he could be embarrassed of me. Maybe being with a woman would hurt his street credibility or desirability as an up and coming artist. 

“Look, if you don’t want to go in with me, just say so.” I sighed, taking a step back.

“This has nothing to do with you. Hell, there’s nothing I would love more than to walk into a public place with my arm wrapped around your waist.” He touched my face, the pad of his thumb grazing across my lower lip. “In fact, I want everyone to see me with you. I want them all to know that the most beautiful girl in the world is with me.”

I reached up, taking his hand and kissing the palm of it, lacing my fingers with his.

“Let’s go somewhere more intimate.” I smiled.

——-

John’s house was...different than I had expected. The craftsman house was painted a deep shade of green with cherry wood pillars and a wrap around porch. 

“This is beautiful.” I sounded breathless again. John smiled, admiring his house.

“I like classics.” He shrugged, and he held his hand out to me. I took it, and he ushered me inside of his house. 

Everything about John’s house felt so comfortable, from the cloud soft linen couches to the plush carpet in front of a now burning fireplace to the light, airy kitchen. But what fascinated me most was the solo microphone in the living room. 

“Well then, mr. musician.” I teased, circling the microphone and touching it lightly. “Can I request a song?”

He crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow at the question.

“I might be willing to entertain requests...for a price. I don’t play for free, you know.” He tried his best to sound business-like.

“Of course you don’t. No worthy musician does. Name your price.” I countered, crossing my arms and playing into the whole deal making role play.

“I play a song of your choice, and you kiss me.” Still with a formal voice. 

“You drive a hard bargain.” I pursed my lips, tapping them in “deep thought”, pacing and pretending to consider his request.

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” He put his hands up, signaling his refusal to haggle.

“Okay. Deal.” I put my hand out, and he took it, shaking it.

“So, what’s the request? I’m curious.” He sat down on the barstool, adjusting the microphone. Behind him, next to the fireplace, a lone black guitar with pearl inlays say, waiting to be played. 

“Is she a pop fan? A rock fan? Classical? Blues? Country?”John mused as he reached for the guitar, putting the strap around his neck and plucking a few strings, tuning it absentmindedly.

“Something—The Beatles.” It seemed like a sound choice, and it was one of my favorites. I plopped down on the couch, kicking off my heels and settling in to the couch.

“Good choice.” John smiled, pulling out his phone, checking the chords and nodding to the beat. He strummed a few chords to get the cadence of the song, then he began, and when his mouth opened and the first notes of the song rang out, my mouth dropped open in shock.

His voice was a deep, smooth sound that drug me into him completely—the vibrato and tone like that of Eddie Vedder. It was so beautiful. My face must have given away my shock because John’s smile grew wide at the musical break.

“I don’t want to leave her now.”

And almost as quickly as it had began, it ended. John stood quickly, heading over to the mini-bar in the living room and uncorking a bottle of whiskey and pouring two glasses. He handed me one of the two glasses and shifted a little uncomfortably.

“You have a gift.” I wasn’t exactly sure what to say to him. On the one hand, I wanted him to know that I appreciated the performance, but on the other, it was clear that he wasn’t all that into the attention. I wanted to say more, but I settled on taking a sip of the whiskey he poured. 

“So I’m told.” He leaned against the bar. He took a sip of his whiskey and set the glass down, looking at me expectantly. I looked around the room for a second, confused at the look he was giving me.

“What?”

“I believe you owe me something.” He arched his eyebrow, and I felt my face flush a deep red. Right. A kiss. My mouth suddenly went very dry, and I swallowed hard. I willed my feet to move one step at a time, stopping just in front of him. 

“Come on. You’re a bad bitch. Don’t be a pussy.” My inner goddess gave some of the best pep talks...albeit, a bit crude. Deliberately, I reached around him, my body grazing his as I set the glass of whiskey down on the mini-bar behind him, my hands slowly sliding from his hips, around the front to his stomach, up to his chest, slowly up his neck, and resting on his face. 

“Be brave.” My inner goddess told me. At her command, I raised my eyes to look at him, and something in me awakened. It was the strangest feeling—like, a mix of anxiety and nausea intermingled with a warmth I had never felt before. It was like I wanted to laugh and cry all at the same time. My heart fluttered quickly and my chest tightened at the sensation. 

Without thinking, my fingers brushed a against his hair, and I found myself closing my eyes, and leaning into him. John closed the distance quickly, his hands pulling my body into his, crushing the distance that remained between us, his lips coming down softly onto mine. The taste of cigarettes and whiskey filled up my senses, and I found my lips moving with a fervency from all of the tension, anxiety, lust, and frustration that had built up over the last few hours. 

John’s hands traveled to the back of my thighs and he lifted me up against his body, placing me soundly on the mini-bar. My hands tangled themselves in his hair, and I pulled him closer to me. I needed to feel him close to me. My hands found the collar of his jacket, pulling his jacket down past his shoulders, and John pulled it the rest of the way off, hands clutching at his black tie, tearing it off, his hands moving slowly up my thighs, savoring every inch of my body, past my hips, and up my waist to my shoulders. His fingers hooked themselves into the straps of my body-con dress. At that, I pushed him off of me, and he stumbled backward a little toward the plush rug in front of the fireplace.

Both breathing hard and John unsure of what to do, we stood staring at each other for a moment. Slowly, I reached up toward the straps of my dress, inching them down my shoulders, as I slowly made my way over to John. I turned my back to him, wordlessly asking for an assist with the golden zipper on the back of my dress. John’s lips found my neck, hands moving across my shoulders, pulling me close to him, as his hands found the zipper, pulling it down, as he ran his hands down my arms to help the dress fall to the floor. 

I placed my hand on his right shoulder, guiding him to the floor, getting on my hands and knees and crawling toward him, straddling him as I unbuttoned his shirt one agonizing button at a time. John marveled at me as I worked down toward his belt, opening his shirt to see what I was working with, and oh damn. John was jacked—tight, toned washboard abs were just waiting to be found and worshipped, and so I did just that, my lips moving their way from his lips, to his throat, to his chest and abs. I ran my hands over his body, appreciating it like it should be appreciated. 

But somewhere in the back of my mind, a nasty thought reared it’s ugly head: how many other women had been where I am; had been in his arms, tasted his kiss, ran their fingers over his beautiful body. How many women had fucked John Wick?

I hated myself for wondering that. Where was all of this insecurity coming from? I never thought twice about what I did because I was usually confident in my decisions, but I found myself questioning everything with John, second guessing my own thoughts and emotions. I cared too much for someone I had known for such a short amount of time. 

Before I had a chance to think any further, John whispered,

“Wait.” 

Somewhere, deep down, I was glad he had told me to stop. My lips felt swollen and sore, hot from overuse. 

“Did I do something wrong?” The words spilled out of my lips like an overly sensitive school girl, and I inwardly cringed at the blatant show of my insecurities.

“No. That’s not it at all.” He seemed rushed to justify his reasoning. “It’s just...I really want to see you again.”

At that statement, I laughed a little. It just sounded so absurd to me. Why wouldn’t I see him again? 

“And not just because of your body,” he continued, “but because of you. You make me smile, and I think I’ve laughed harder tonight than I’ve laughed in a long time.”

I smiled, looking away from him. I felt the same way. A brief silence passed between us as I considered a response. It dawned on me that, like me, John didn’t like to call up his one night stands and booty calls much like I didn’t. Those were informal meetings, meant simply to satisfy carnal instincts and needs, but never to fulfill the emotional necessities we both craved at this moment.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” I agreed. 

“Yeah?” He smiled, a giddy John that I hadn’t seen before showing himself fully.

“Most definitely, Mr. Wick. There’s nothing I would like more...and I do believe you have my number now.” I teased. “Don’t lose it, okay?”

“I plan on having it tattooed on me for just such instances.” He bantered back. I laughed, and he threw his arms around me, pulling me down to the plush rug with him, where we lay in silence, John stroking my hair gently. I closed my eyes, snuggling closer to him.

“This feels good.” I sighed, and I found myself feeling drowsy before slipping into blissful unconsciousness.


	3. I’ll Call You

The warmth of the early morning sun was the first thing that woke me, and I found myself wrapped up tight in an strong pair of arms. John Wick, the man himself, was still sound asleep next to me. My attention fell on his face, and he looked so serene when he slept. I reached up, running my fingers over his face gently, hands touching the scruff of his beard, and then traveling to brush his hair out of his face. I smiled as I thought of the night before, remembering that he wanted to see me again.

Carefully, I unwrapped myself from John’s arms, grabbed my clutch, and crept around in search of the bathroom. I needed a moment to freshen up after last night because I smelled horrible. I closed the door gently and locked it, grabbing a towel and turning on the shower.

After a hot shower and a chance to dress myself again, I frowned into the mirror. I guess he would have to see me without makeup...or maybe not. Maybe I could sneak out before he had the chance to wake up. I pinched my cheeks, trying to bring a little color into them, and used my fingers to comb through my hair. Then, I braided it quickly, reaching into my clutch for a hair tie.

Swiftly, I opened the door, rounding the corner to find John leaning up against the counter, a dejected look on his face and a coffee mug steaming in his hands. I moved into his field of vision and his head snapped in my direction. He visibly seemed to relax, a brilliant and beautiful smile spreading across his face.

“I thought you left.” He said, turning toward the coffee maker to make another cup.

“I considered it.” I admitted. His face fell a little as he turned back toward me, and I took the coffee mug. “It’s just—I wasn’t sure how this morning would go after last night...or if maybe what you said was just the liquor talking. I thought maybe it would be better if I just saw myself out.”

“I meant what I said.” He quietly said, taking a sip of his coffee and putting the mug down on the counter and crossing his arms. I felt my face grow hot and felt distinctly aware of his eyes on me, watching my reaction. “But I do have work today.”

I nodded a little to eagerly, thanking my lucky stars for a way out, and inching toward the door. John, being the gentleman that he was, walked me to the door, opening it and saying,

“I’ll call you.” And at that line, my heart sank. Those three words were a death sentence in any sort of romantic sense. Somehow, my inner goddess woke up once again, and I felt a surge of adrenaline as my inner goddess gave John the middle finger. I straightened up a little more, and flicked my braid over my shoulder. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Really? He wants to do me like that? He doesn’t even know me.

“And you don’t even know him.” The logical part of me whispered to my raging inner goddess. He gave him a simple smile, shrugging in response and waved over my shoulder as I strutted my way to my car. About halfway there, I felt myself hesitate. 

“Don’t do it.” My inner goddess earned. “Don’t look back.”

And unwillingly, I felt my head turn to look over my shoulder and pause. John was still standing there, watching me walk to my car, his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the door frame. Somehow, I found myself turning back around and heading back to his front door.

“I forgot something.” I smiled, and John moved to let me inside the door. Before he could completely move out of the way, I grabbed his face, pressing my lips to his, and he froze, and then his body melted into the kiss. It was brief, but enough, before I pulled back, kissing him on the cheek. “Just in case you forget why you took me home.”

I winked at him, and headed back to my car, waving to John as I left...And that was the last I would hear from John Wick...or so I thought...


	4. Treason

Ch. 4  
“You look like shit.”

Andy eyed me suspiciously, setting down my typical glass of whiskey and beer chaser.

“It’s good to see you too, asshole.” I spit. Andy smiled, wiping down a set of glasses. It had been almost a month since I had heard from John, and each day, that little bit of hope grew dimmer and that fire of rage ignited a little more. That silver tongued motherfucker had me from the very beginning, and I should have known better. I shot the whiskey back pretty soundly, and Andy put another down on the bar. This was one of those nights where a little buzz just wasn’t going to do it, and Andy knew that.

“Keys.” Andy demanded, holding his hand out. I sighed, grabbing my car keys and slapping them in his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” I smiled, bowing to him theatrically. Tonight, Andy had the music blasting, and a couple of college girls were already on the dance floor grinding all over each other, so I figured, what the hell? Why not go out and have a good time? The only one who knew me was Andy, and he had seen me looking much worse for the wear.

The booze was flowing, the music was blaring, and the lights were blurring by the time I really started to feel the rhythm. By that point, there were a lot more people on the floor. It was also at this point that I started noticing women whispering and pointing toward the bar. I staggered backward, whirling around to see what Andy had done to garner so much attention and that’s when I saw him in his stupid black suit with his stupid black tie. John fucking Wick was back in MY fucking bar invading MY fucking space.

I could see Andy motioning pretty violently toward the door, and John was trying to talk him off a ledge while conversation swirled all around me:

“Who is he?”

“Fuck he’s hot.”

“Is that John Wick?”

“Oh my god! It’s him!”

“He’s so much hotter in person.”

“I told you it was a good idea to come here.”

“I have to get out of here. I have to leave this bar. I can’t stay here.” I was screaming at myself inside. I stumbled toward the back exit and out into the busy Saturday bar crowd. As the door swung open, I could hear Andy shout over the din of the crowd,

“Shit! Demi!”

My body lurched forward, pushing through the crowd, feeling the need to get away as quickly as possible, wherever I could go—the next bar over if I had to even if that meant pissing Andy off. And so that’s what I did...I clambered into the next bar over, taking a deep breath as I stumbled toward the bar.

“Hey! Are you okay?” A strong pair of hands helped me to a seat, and as I glanced up, I sighed in relief. It was the bartender, and he definitely wasn’t bad on the eyes. 

“Well, I am now.” I smiled, leaning toward the bar. He came around the bar, leaning forward to meet me, just inches from my face. What a tease. “But you know what would make things even better?”

I tapped his nose playfully, and he smiled at the flirtatious gesture.

“What’s that?” He played along. I motioned for him to come closer, brushing his light brown locks away, and putting my lips against his ear, whispering,

“A double shot of Wild Turkey.” 

He smiled, looking at me and nodded,

“You got it.”

“Is it your policy to serve patrons who are clearly over their limit?” A sullen voice asked from over my shoulder, and at that very moment, for the first time since my college career, I felt the sudden urge to vomit. John Wick had found me. The bartender’s mouth set into a hard line at that comment.

“Oh, don’t listen to him. He’s just being a killjoy.” I brushed him off. The bartender smiled, looking John straight in the eye, and pouring the whiskey into a glass, and setting it on the bar in front of me with a sly smile.

“This one’s on the house.” He gave John a long, hard look, and then continued, “if you need me for any reason, I’ll be right over here.”

The bartender pointed to the other end of the bar where a few other patrons had arrived. From there, he pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me.

“And if there’s any trouble outside of work or if you’re interested in just hanging out or grabbing a drink, give me a call.” He smiled.

“You are so sweet. Thank you, Santino.” I smiled, sliding the card in my clutch. It was a good thing I had a split second to look at the card, making it seem like I knew the bartender caught in the crossfire. 

“Demi, come on. Let’s go back to Rouge. Andy is pretty worried about you.” John’s voice was soft, almost like he was talking to a child, and I hated it. I snorted into my whiskey at the thought of that. Swirling my chair to look at this pretentious asshole, 

“Well, that makes one person. And who are you?”

John raised his eyebrows at the putrid comment, and mentioned,

“I’m the guy who’s trying to look out for you.”

“I see.” I smiled, taking a sip of whiskey. “And where has that valiant sense of duty been for the last month?”

“It’s been working.” His crossed his arms.

“Wow! I’m so sorry.” I feigned an apology. “Really. I didn’t realize that in all that work time that you were so focused that you simply had no down time to pick up the phone and call or, at the very least, text.”

John nodded. 

“That’s fair.” He conceded.

“Thank you.” I snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot more drinking to do and a lot less time to spend on you.”

And at that, I turned back to the bar and resumed my drinking. 

***

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur with Santino cutting me off after my second drink. Considering I nursed the first one for about an hour, it was about time for the bars to close. 

“Need a ride home?” Santino asked as he wiped down the bar.

“Thanks, but not thanks.” I saluted Santino, stumbling toward the door. “I’ll be good.”

“I can’t let you go knowing you’re wasted like that. At least tell me you’ll call a taxi or an Uber or something?” Santino grabbed my hand, and I turned back toward him.

“I appreciate your concern. I will call an Uber.” I raised my fingers up in the air. “Scout’s honor.” 

Santino scoffed and nodded, kissing me on the cheek, to my surprise and then letting me go. I pushed the door open, heading back out into the street toward Andy’s bar, and pushing the door open. Andy looked up from his closing work, and his eyes widened as he fumbled with the glass he was holding, setting it down, hopping over the bar and wrapping me in his arms.

“Demi, you idiot. I was worried.” He pressed his cheek into my hair, then held me at arms length, inspecting me to make sure I was okay.

“I might be an idiot, but I do know how to take care of myself. I was just next door.” I grinned. Andy’s mouth fell open at that comment, gasping and feigning shock and he hissed,

“Treason!”

“That’s right. I did betray my king and country. Whatever shall my punishment be, my lord?” I dropped to my knees, putting my hands together in a begging gesture. Andy stroked his invisible beard and pacing in theatrical thought as he said,

“Oh. It will be severe and well deserved.”

“Oh please! Spare me, sire!” I clutched at his pants leg.

“I cannot forgive such a betrayal. Your punishment shall be to receive a ride home from John Wick.” He pointed at me. My mouth fell open at that statement, and I immediately crossed my arms and spat,

“No. Fuck you.”

“Your sentence has been given...besides, it’s either that or he keeps your car.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean? I don’t...” and then the realization of what he just did hit me like a ton of bricks. “YOU ASSHOLE! YOU GAVE HIM MY CAR KEYS!”

Andy backed away, hopping back over the bar and hiding behind it.

“You gave away my trust! This cannot be undone so easily!” Andy cried. I was going to kill him and rip him to pieces.

“You...little...piece...of...”

“Hey, now.” A velveteen voice sounded from the back corner of the bar, and I whirled around, losing my balance completely, and falling sideways into a table before grabbing it and hoisting myself back up like nothing happened. “I wouldn’t say the sentence is all THAT terrible.”

John Wick’s lips twitched.

“Don’t you dare smile.” I snarled. John held his hands up in surrender, face instantly turning solemn.

“I’m just here to carry out your sentence.” John quipped. “Treason is a pretty serious crime.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I hissed, grabbing my clutch and marching toward the door. I stopped just at the exit, whirling around and jabbing a finger toward Andy. “And as for YOU!”

Andy shrank back, his eyes only just visible behind the bar.

“Starting tomorrow, I will be visiting every bar in the Warehouse District to see which bartender I like the best.” I hissed. Andy sprang up from behind the bar in outrage.

“You wouldn’t dare!” He squeaked. I narrowed my eyes at him, pointing two fingers toward my eyes and then back toward him.

“Watch me.” I spat, turning on my heel, stumbling straight into the door, and then kicking the door open with my stilettoed heel, and stalking toward the car that was temporarily no longer mine.


	5. Backslide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day? Whaaaaaattttt?!?!?!

I sat back in the car seat, arms crossed like a spoiled brat, pursing my lips to show my displeasure. We both sat in silence as John drove. Finally, he sighed and began,

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yes, you are.” I grumbled.

“And you were right. There were plenty of times I could have called or texted.” He conceded. My shoulders relaxed a bit, and I felt a lump rise in my throat at that. Stupid liquor.

“Why didn’t you?” My voice was little more than a whisper. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I had been working a lot. When I wasn’t working, I was sleeping. My job can be kind of exhausting, and it takes a lot out of me.” He explained. I looked down at my hands. “But there wasn’t a second that I didn’t think of you.”

I looked over at him, and he glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes.

“I thought of you everyday.” I admitted. “More than I want to admit.”

He smiled softly at that statement.

“It’s like,” I moved my hands trying to explain. “Like I have the best night I’ve ever had with this incredible man. When he touches me it feels like I’ve never been touched before him. And he tells me he wants to see me and then he just...disappears...like he never existed.”

“I’m not good at this.” He sighed. “But I want to be. That’s why, when I first got here, the first thing I wanted to do was go to Rouge to find you. And when you left and I saw you with...him...that bartender...I hated it.”

I looked over at him, and I could see his knuckles growing white on the steering wheel. He relaxed a little, and I said,

“Where have you been?”

“Everywhere.” John shrugged. “I travel a lot for my job. We barely slow down.”

“Ah. Your mysterious musician’s job.” I smiled.

“It’s not all that mysterious.” He laughed. 

“It’s just up here.” I pointed out to him, and he pulled into the driveway. 

“Okay.” John put the car in park. “I’ll see you inside and then call an Uber.”

“Or,” I said a little too quickly. “You could stay here.”

***

Sitting on the other cushion of the sofa from John Wick felt like a dream. The soft candlelight from the coffee table lit his face up a brilliant gold, and he turned his attention to me. Gently, he ran his fingers across my cheek, and as much as I wanted to lean into his touch, I felt myself pull away from him.

“I’m sorry, Demi.” His apology had a hint of sadness and disappointment to it and I simply nodded. “Is there...someone else?”

I almost laughed at that question. How could there be someone else when the only person I could think of was him?

“There’s no one.” I told him. “But I’m not exactly in a hurry to get burned again.”

He nodded. 

“I want to see you. I want to be with you. But it has to be on your terms.” He said. “I need you to understand what I do, and then see if you still want to be with me.”

“Why do I need to see it?” I felt that same suspicion creeping up on me again.

“Because my job doesn’t exactly make it easy to be with me. There’s a lot of pressures that come with my job.” He explained.

“Then,” I sighed. “when can I head to your job?”

“Tomorrow, actually.” He sat forward, removing his jacket. “That’s part of the reason I’m in town.”

“What’s the other part?” I asked. John placed his jacket on the back of the sofa, and then angled himself toward me. I arched an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well, you, of course.” He said very matter of factly. He reached out and took my hand, and my heart skipped a beat. I leaned forward, unable to take the pressure of the feeling bursting from my chest and pressed my lips to his. He touched my face gently, and leaned into the kiss. I crawled into his lap, straddling him and taking his face in my hands.

“Don’t ever,” I said between kisses, “Ever do this to me again.”

John pulled me to him, pressing my body against his, before softly pulling away, putting his forehead to mine and nodding.

***

When I woke up, the afternoon sun was bright in my bedroom window. I blinked a few times, stretching and reaching out, finding myself alone in bed. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, listening for any sound of John. Looking over at the alarm clock on my nightstand, I saw it was nearly 3, and next to the clock was a note:

Demi,

You were sleeping so well, and I didn’t want to wake you. I had to leave to get ready for work, and I hope I’ll see you there so we can figure out what’s going on between us together.

Meet me at Lauer Stadium. I’ve left a ticket for you under this note.

See you soon,

John

I picked up the ticket, squinting to read the handwriting. It was a Pit ticket for Backslide—a music festival that was happening in the area. Tons of popular artists of all genres were in town for this event, but it was most known for the rock scene, and I knew Lauer Stadium well—it was an amphitheater. I smiled at the ticket, then threw the blankets off the bed, heading straight for the shower the get ready.

If I was going to Backslide, then looking the part was a must. I threw on a black crop tank top, pulling on a red and black plaid shirt and tying it just at my upper waist. I pulled on my trashy fishnets and a pair of tattered short black shorts, along with a black belt, and finished it off with thigh high black boots. I layered several gold necklaces on, and pulled on my gold and black wrist cuff. Finally, I curled my hair, adding in red extensions to the mix, and I was ready to go.

The crowd at Backslide was what I expected—a shit ton of people all standing around in suffocating heat. I grabbed an overpriced beer on the way in and sipped at it nervously, searching for John as I made my way toward the pit.

The second opening band had just finished for the night, and they were setting up for the headliners. Men and women in black shirts and pants scurried around, pushing drum sets onto the stage, carrying guitars out and set pieces. The smell of beer and liquors hung heavy in the air mixed in with the pungent smell of sweat, cigarette smoke and the sweet odor of vapes. Somewhere in the crowd, a new skunky smell made itself known and a few people looked around, smirking toward the culprit.

I pulled my phone out, texting,

“Where are you?” And slipped it back into my pocket, enjoying the ambiance and the hard rock music playing from the speakers as they set up for the next band.

An hour went by and the next band came and went. No response from John. A hollow feeing set in in the pit of my stomach and I tried to push it away. Maybe he’s late? Maybe he’s stuck in traffic?

Two hours without word, as the second headliner came and went, and I felt my heart beginning to sink. How could I have fallen into this trap again? I was so stupid. So willing to go out of my way for someone who disappeared only to reappear in my life without a word, and I had just let him back in. No more.

“Fuck it.” I growled, pushing my way to get out of the pit as the lights went dark. I felt the overwhelming rush of the crowd rushing forward to meet the next band on stage as I pushed against the crowd.

The first notes of the bass boomed out against the crowd, followed by the lightest hints of guitar as the crowd erupted in cheers and screams.

“Stupid girl.” I scolded myself. “You really thought he would come after ghosting you for weeks.”

“Demi.” My blood ran cold and I froze, hearing my name spoken lightly on the speakers. The crowd went insane at the name, and the lights came up. 

“Demi.” The crowd sang with the deep, male voice as the drums kicked in and the bass began a complex melody. 

“I know you think I’m not there.   
I know you think I don’t care.   
But Demi.   
Demi.   
From the color of those bright eyes   
To the silence where you used to lie  
Those lips of yours I’ve memorized  
And I can’t deny.   
I can’t deny.  
I’m sick of these lies.

I know where your heart lies  
Those tears bleed in your eyes  
And I’ve come to realize  
I’d rather die than see you cry

I want you to know I  
Don’t want to leave your side  
And I guess I know it’s true  
I’m falling for you.”

The crowd erupted in cheers at the solo, and I found myself slowly turning around, and up on that stage, front and center, there he was, a microphone in his hand, looking right at me.


	6. Celebrity Status

Ch. 6  
The whole experience felt like a dream—there was no way that this could possibly be real, but there he was, smiling at me up on the stage, a guitar over his shoulder, lips on the mic singing. Everything suddenly fell into place and made sense: the long silences, John being gone for weeks and then suddenly reappearing in my life, not wanting me to know who he was. 

Part of me felt like sprinting out of the amphitheater right now, running and screaming, but I stood frozen like a deer in headlights. In front of John, a barrage of hands reached out to him, and he touched each one of them, humbly appreciating their support. The thrum of the bass vibrated through my body, and I felt myself being knocked into and shoved as people began moving and moshing to the music. 

Finally, I regained control of my body, and I found myself turning and heading out of the crowd and toward the pop up bars. This was going to call for more than just one measly beer. I slapped my card on the counter, and said,

“A shot of whiskey and a dark beer...stat.”

The bartender raised her eyebrows in surprise, producing the whiskey from below the counter and saying,

“Holy shit, girl. Bad day?”

My mouth felt dry and I nodded furiously, taking the shot. I waved my hand for the beer, and she popped the cap off, handing it over to me.

“Guy I’ve been dating ghosts me for nearly a month. I decide, ‘Fuck this asshole.’...then I find out he’s one of the headliners here.” I choke out, wincing against the burn.

“Damn.” She commiserated, shaking her head. She leaned forward on the bar, her tattoo sleeve catching my attention. An intricate snake interwoven with a rose adorned her arm. 

“I saw it on an album cover, and I fell in love with it.” She smiled, noticing my attention on it, her green eyes seemed to twinkle when she talked about it, thick black eyeliner illuminating those eyes even more.

“Whose album is it from?” I leaned my head against my hand, propping my elbow on the table.

“Wicker.” A soft smile crossed her face. “I’ve loved them since they first got started. This tat is from their first album. I have so many good memories attached to it.”

“I love that.” I said to her, and took another sip right now.

“Thanks.” She wiped down the bar as she spoke, taking the shot glass from in front of me. “They’re playing my new favorite song right now.”

I choked on my beer for a second, beer spewing out of my nose, as I sputtered,

“Oh fuck! It burns! It fucking burns!”

My eyes watered against the painful burn in my nose.

“What the fuck, dude.” The bartender sounded annoyed. I waved my hand for the bar towel, wiping up my nostril juice.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—did you say they’re playing it now? As in this band?” I coughed.

“What is with you? Don’t you know Wicker?” She chastised. I shook my head and she sighed, rolling her eyes and whipping out her phone.

“Alright look. Wicker is a band that’s been around since the early 2000s when the lead singer was a teenager. Speaking of the lead, Mr. Hotstuff himself, John Wick, has been named the nation’s most eligible bachelor three years in a row. Besides that, they have tons of hits, tons of followers, and tons of awards. Have you been living under a rock or something?” 

My eyes flickered across her screen, seeing her Twitter profile name, Dane, briefly on the screen.

“Yeah.” I sounded incredibly breathless at this moment, as I stared at the screen, watching John sing his heart out in a music video. I pulled out my phone, searching his name, and there he was, a black and white picture of my real life god adorning my screen. My shaking fingers touched the screen as all of this information sank in.

“Are you okay?” Dane put her hand on my shoulder, steadying me a little.

“Yeah. Yeah. Just another shot, please.” I held my hand out.

“Let’s just chill on the drinks for a second. What’s your name?” She put her phone away, turning her attention to me.

“Demi.” I felt sick for a moment.

“What a coincidence. That’s the name of the song they just played.” She smiled. “I’m Dane.”

“Yeah. It’s my song.” I told her. She blinked at me a few times and then burst into laughter. At that, I couldn’t help but laugh too. It was such an absurd situation, and that laughter was the only thing keeping me from going insane. At that, I took that one final shot, and I closed out my tab.

“If you’re ever around again,” Dane smiles, setting down the receipt and pen, “come hang out.”

I left her a healthy tip, feeling devious about cheating on Andy with another bartender, and making a mental note to rub it in his stupid sadistic face. I still hadn’t quite forgiven him for letting John drive me home...although I wasn’t entirely mad about it.

I made my way to the top of the amphitheater, sitting on one of the stone stairs, my legs dangling down as I swung my feet back and forth. And all I could see in front of me on two giant LED screens was his face. I had seen a lot of men in my lifetime. Hell, I’d been with a lot of men in my lifetime, and there was nothing that compared to the confidence of a man in his element. John Wick was born to be a performer. Everything that he did electrified the crowd, from the deep vibrato to the passion on his face when he sang. When he pointed or reached out to the audience, I saw a man that felt embraced and loved by the people who were there. 

Something deep inside of me woke up, and I realized that this feeling was bittersweet. He made me feel like my soul was on fire—like every waking moment of the day would be spent doing whatever I could to bask in his shadow. I wanted to feel the emptiness when he wasn’t there, and hear the silence being broken by the depth of his voice. I wanted to know the taste of his lips and feel the gentle pleasure of his hands on my body. I wanted to ride the waves of highs and lows with him, and it wasn’t because he was a celebrity. It was because he was him. And it was in that moment that I realized that I really liked this John Wick way more than I probably should, but there was no turning back now.

The ear splitting sound of the roar of the crowd broke me out of my reverie, and alerted my attention to the stage, as the riffs of John’s guitar and the low hum of the bass vibrated to the end of a song. 

“Thank you.” John said into the microphone, and the crowd screamed again. “There is nothing like coming back to my hometown.”

The crowd chanted the name of the band, and I smiled, clapping along with the cadence of the crowd.

“Usually, when you’re away for a long time, you come back to find all the same old things the way that you left him.” He continued. “But this time, when I came home, something was different.”

The crowd noise had been reduced to a gentle hum as they listened to him attentively, hanging on his every word.

“When I got back, the only thing I could think of doing, was going to this bar. And it wasn’t because of the booze because the booze is the same no matter where you go. It was because of this girl.” He explained, and the crowd roared with another cheer. 

“When she walked into the bar, I swear everyone in the entire bar stopped and stared. She was this anomaly, unlike anything I’d seen before, and she had this allure that was like this heavy gravity, and all I could do was just stare, and that was when she turned and she looked at me.” He smiled, and a chorus of whoops went up in the crowd.

“And my life hasn’t been the same since because she picked me. She wanted me, and she didn’t even know me. And I let her down.” He explained. “And somehow, through all that, she’s here tonight.”

The crowd went on to roar again in the silence, and he nodded.

“So this last song—it’s for her.” 

And with that, a man ran out onto the stage, handing him an acoustic guitar. John sat on a black barstool, adjusting the mic and positioning the guitar on his lap. The stage went dark except for a spotlight on John. He shook his hair out of his face and began to play, his fingers strumming that familiar Beatles tune once again.

“Something in the way she moves.” He sang, and to my surprise, the audience began to sing too, lighters and cell phone lights coming on and waving back and forth in unison. I felt a lump rise in the back of my throat, and I put my hand over my mouth, moved by the gesture. 

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and two men dressed in security uniforms said,

“Come with me, miss. Mr. Wick sent for you.” 

He held out his hand, and I took it, walking with them around the back of the stadium to see John Wick again in a new light.


	7. After the Show

Sitting backstage in the waiting room for bands was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. My hands fidgeted with anything and everything from the smooth caramel leather couches to the small vase that contained an array of guitar picks and black roses. I sat on the couch, flipping through a raunchy magazine, but more than anything, I found myself pacing the room. 

The door burst open and a woman with long blonde hair and a tight black dress came careening into the room like a tornado, passing me and heading directly for the bar. She mixed a cocktail together, and then she whipped out her phone, speaking abruptly to the person on the other end:

“Collins. I need another bottle of whiskey and two burger meals. Yeah. Show ends in ten minutes. Be here in twenty.”

She flipped on the light to the next room over revealing a full bathroom decked out in the marble. Next to the bathroom was a small closet, which I figured out when she pulled a garment bag out, selecting dark jeans, a black shirt, and a few accessories. 

And through all of this, never once did she acknowledge my presence.

“Um. Hello.” I smiled, trying to sound friendly. She glanced over at me and nodded, continuing her maniacal routine. “I’m Demi.”

“You’re John’s new girlfriend, yes?” She sounded a little impatient and slightly annoyed that I was even conversing with her. She stopped, crossing her arms and sticking her right hip out, pursing her lips.

“Not In so many words.” I was trying to sound as confident as possible because she intimidated the shit out of me, and as a lawyer going against aggressive assholes and pretentious bitches, that was saying a lot for me, but she seemed pretty satisfied with that response, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

“Good. He doesn’t need a girlfriend. He has enough girls...and women, for that matter, to satisfy him while he’s on the road. Besides that, he has me.” The fuck does that mean? I kept my composure as well as I could considering the fact that I did not like hearing about John’s “women” and I especially did not like hearing her talk about her special relationship with him. All things considered, I knew she was just trying to stir up trouble, and I knew women like her better than most because those psychos were the manipulative assholes I dealt with on the daily. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that uneasy stab of jealousy hearing her talk about him like that.

She smiled, turning on her heel, coming back with a silver tray and three sets of fresh white lines. An immediate sense of nausea overwhelmed me looking at that tray. Was that his life? Is this who John Wick was? Jesus Christ, every stereotype out there about rockstars was true. Playboys, sex addicts, and drug addicts, and I fell right into that stupid trap like a steel to a dark, beautiful magnet. 

The woman turned one last time, heading toward the door and stopping in front of me, saying, “I’m Jasmine, John’s personal assistant and the manager to the band.”

I nodded a bit, smirking, trying to show her that she didn’t get to me and that zero fucks were given about what she said and upon seeing that, she twisted the knife a little further, saying,

“Now if you’ll excuse me, sweetheart. The band will be done in about five minutes. I need to go pick some beauties from the crowd for John and his boys. They love they attention, and John especially has a thing for gorgeous blondes in tight dresses.”

She laughed, touching my hair and went on,

“You’d be surprised how many women show up to these concerts looking like they’re about to go to the club, and some,” she smiled, looking me up and down, “look like they work at a strip club.”

And at that, she marched out the door, closing it behind her with a loud slam. The echoing silence was the only thing that followed, and I realized that the entire time that I had been talking to Jasmine, my knees were locked. Now, they were shaking, and I wobbled my way over to the couch to sit down, putting my head in my hands.

“What the fuck are you doing, Demi?” I scolded myself. “Is this really what you want in your life?”

Outside, I heard the crowd erupt in cheers, and I knew the show was over. Part of me contemplated running out the door, making up an excuse, and never having to worry about this again. But that’s not how problems in life are solved, and sooner or later, I would have to accept my responsibility in this.

I counted to three, taking a deep breath, and slowly exhaled to the count of ten...

One...  
The cheering of the crowd intensified.

Two...  
The sound of rushing around outside the door of the stage hands moving two and fro.

Three...  
The sound of laughter from excited girls coming down the hallway.

Four...  
The door slamming open and ten girls shrieking and running inside the room.

Five...  
Five of the girls cram on the couch next to me, each of them checking their hair and makeup and spraying perfume and lowering their shirts to show the maximum amount of cleavage.

Six...  
Jasmine passing out beer and condoms to all of the girls equally as they giggled like school children.

Seven...  
The sound of guitars and laughter coming down the hallway.

Eight...  
The bassist and drummer came into the room to the shrieks of a few of the girls.

Nine...  
Jasmine pulled the other girls off of the couch to get them ready for John.

Ten...  
John Wick, in all of his beauty, walked into the room and like a parasite to a host, the girls instantly attached themselves to him and he, despite his best intentions, lecherously leaned into that attention.


	8. Don’t Be Salty

Storming out of the room like a spoiled brat would not be the thing to do right now. Nor would confronting him. Nor would ripping the hair out of every groupie attached to his jock right now. But damn if I didn’t want to do it. If I made it out of this without having a massive heart attack or a nuclear meltdown at the hands of Jasmine and a very oblivious John Wick, I would consider myself a blessed woman.

“Fuck it.” I muttered, heading over to the mini bar, popping open the whiskey and grabbing a dark beer from the fridge.

“Excuse me.” Jasmine. Again. “That whiskey is exclusively reserved for John Wick.”

I turned to face her, glass in hand, and she was leaning up against the bar. At that, I took the shot of whiskey, enjoying the burn and the half amused, half annoyed look on her face that instantly turned to frustration when I poured another shot of whiskey.

“Thats weird.” I told her, looking at the bottle. “I thought that having a reservation meant that his name would be written all over it or at least that his name would be somewhere on the label.”

I inspected it even more carefully, holding it out to her.

“Huh. I don’t see his name anywhere on it. You know, I would think as his ‘personal assistant,’ you would be more careful about making sure of these things.” I patted her on the shoulder.

“But hey!” I continued taking the bottle with me and heading toward the door. “Props to you, girl, because you got my drink of choice. Thank you so much.”

I tipped my head back taking another shot. Out of nowhere, Jasmine lunged for the bottle, snatching it out of my hands and pushing me hard. This was enough to attract the attention of the bassist, who shouted,

“Jasmine, what the fuck, dude? This isn’t how we treat our fans.”

I tensed up, turning to look at him, and he sauntered toward me, a blonde on each arm. He shoed them off and smiled,

“Especially not one as gorgeous as this one.”

“Please,” Jasmine scoffed, “she’s just your run of the mill blonde hoe.”

“That remains to be determined.” The bassist leaned against the minibar. “The name’s Liam.”

“I’m not interested.” I turned on my heel to walk out the door only to find him right in front of me again.

“I’ve never heard that one before.” 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

“Hold on a minute.” He smiled, touching my face and stroking my hair. I grabbed his hand in a tight grip, leaned in close and seethed,

“Touch me again and I will bring your ass to court for sexual harassment, motherfucker.” 

I threw his hand to the side and he fucked right off with his tail between his legs, talking low to the drummer who laughed in his face, glancing over at me, and heading my way. 

“Oh god. Here we go.” I muttered to myself, putting my hands on my hips.

“Hey. I come in peace.” He laughed, holding his hands up. I relaxed a little, and he put his hands in his pockets, producing a joint. “Interested?”

I looked at the joint and then up at him, shaking my head.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, lighting up and blowing a big hit out into the air. He looked around at everyone, and I found myself glaring at the back of John’s head as he sat on the couch, his arms around the girls.

“So, uh,” the drummer leaned over, looking from John to me. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t even know anymore.” I sighed. He looked over at John again and then back to me, and I saw a glint of sympathy cross his face. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that Jasmine took from me and two glasses and said,

“Here. Come with me.”

I looked over at John once again, who was clearly enjoying himself and telling a rather animated story to the groupies who hung on his every word. I raised my eyebrows and nodded, following him out the door to a separate room, where we both sat down together on a sofa, and he poured the whiskey into both glasses.

“What’s your name?” He sipped on his whiskey and leaned back, shaking long deep brown locks out of his face. I took the glass and leaned back against the sofa.

“Demi.” 

“You must be the Demi the song is about. I’m Noah...and I’m going to take a wild guess and say that Jasmine didn’t hand pick you to be one of the band babes.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure she wants to get rid of me.”

“Then that tells me you’re not groupie potential, so how did you manage to get into the backstage lounge?”

“John.”

Noah nodded pensively just as a text message pinged on my phone. I pulled my phone out and checked the message from John.

John: Hey. I’m just finishing up some stuff. I sent someone to come and get you before the show ended. Where are you?

I set my jaw and repeated my mantra to myself: don’t be salty. Don’t be salty. Don’t be salty.

Me: I’m around.

Just the right amount of salt. Noah smirked at me and I showed him my phone. He shook his head just as my phone pinged again.

John: Where?

Don’t be salty. Don’t be salty. Don’t be salty.

Me: Beyond the land of the five blonde bimbos and past your well gesticulated stories.

Noah grinned at that response, and I felt satisfied with myself. It did have a bit of spice on the end of it, didn’t it?

“I have an idea.” Noah smiled. 

“You’re scheming?” I leaned toward him conspiratorially.

“Always. Hear me out. Obviously, John likes the attention of the band babes, but he likes you enough not to do more than put arms around their shoulders, right?” He asked. My eyes darkened at that response, but I nodded...though it was a hard pill to swallow.

“Why not give him a taste of his own medicine?” He grinned, and I felt the devilish side of me coming out to play hardball with my newfound friend Noah.


	9. Let the Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for sticking with me through the ups and downs of this crazy relationship.

Noah’s plan involved all of the opening acts. In order to drive the plan home, Noah made sure that the only people in the room with us were other dudes because my pettiness and his pettiness were the stuff that conspiracy was made of. He called each one of them and told them he was having a party in the backstage room BYOB style with a few provided bells and whistles in the form of hard drugs, and of course, they showed up.

And there I was in the midst of a room full of incredibly hot and incredibly talented dudes living my best life. But that’s not where his plan stopped. Noah made sure to personally introduce me to the lead singer of each of the three bands he had invited because while John Wick may have had beautiful blondes, there was a stark contrast between a few trashy fan girls dying to get into the pants of superstars for fame and fortune and a room full of trashy superstars trying to get into the pants of your potential girlfriend. As a cherry on the top of this metaphorical sundae, Noah sat them all down on the couch right next to me because there was nothing better a little healthy competition.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it out to our show.” One said, leaning closer to me, the smell of fresh booze and the sight of running guyliner practically slamming into my senses. Guyliner’s hair was a mess of spikes and deep blue dye and glue.

“Oh yeah. The pleasure was all mine.” I smiled, trying to sound as interested as possible and they all said a chorus of affirmations at that.

“Which of us were you here to see?” Posh British boy chimed in from the other end of the couch, and when I leaned forward to look at him, the only thing that came to mind was hot damn. This boy was a Brad Pitt clone. British Brad would be his name. Each of the guys leaned forward in interest at that question.

“Actually, I was invited here. I didn’t really listen to your music before, but I liked what I heard a lot—enough to change my mind.” I winked at British Brad and patted the knee of the guy next to me.

“Invited here? So where’s the person you were with?” A gruff voice asked, and I looked over at the guy with long, dark locks lounging next to me on the couch, looking bored. Disinterested Dan would be his name.

“Well, he’s occupied in a room full of blondes, and I’m here—all alone.” I looked at Disinterested Dan dead in the eye and he straightened up a little, suddenly interested in the conversation. 

“Then I guess he’s missing out.” British Brad grinned. “Because I think you’re worth ten of the band babes.”

For a moment, I felt completely taken aback by that comment in the best way...until Guyliner butted in,

“He’s trying to get into your pants.”

“And you’re not?” British Brad pushed back, and proceeded to throw a seat cushion at him, and a barrage of boyish wrestling broke out between the two of them. Noah appeared and intervened, saying,

“Alright alright. Let’s Tweet this out. Everyone get in the picture. Demi—you’re front and center.” Noah called out. Everyone in the room proceeded to crowd around me on the couch, and I felt an array on hands around my waist, my shoulders, my hips, my thighs and I knew exactly what he was up to. I gave the most sultry look I could muster up, and everyone went back to drinking. Noah motioned me over.

“I’m tagging John in this. Give it five minutes. Go back over there and do your thing.” He motioned to the couch. I winked and headed back over to the couch where British Brad was.

“Do you think you could make room for me?” I smiled sweetly. British Brad patted his lap and I took a seat, putting my arm around his neck as Guyliner handed me a drink.

“What do you do, Demi?” Guyliner asked.

“I’m a lawyer.” I smiled, taking a sip of my drink, and Guyliner’s eyebrows flew up at that.

“So, she’s smart.” Disinterested Dan cut in.

“Smart enough to get myself backstage with all of you fine gentlemen.” I said, raising my glass up to a chorus of whoops. “So, what’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“You’re looking at it.” Disinterested Dan answered.

“I happen to know a fantastic bar we could go to. I know you all just got here, but I guarantee you’ll like this place if you’re looking for a chill spot.” I suggested, and the three of them seemed nodded in acquiescence.

“I think we could do that, but I’m curious...what are your plans for afterward?” British Brad’s hand slowly moved up my thigh, and the other guys grinned at each other.

“Anything particularly interesting?” He taunted. I set my jaw, prepared for a smartass response when I heard a rather angry voice growl,

“Yeah. She’s coming home with me.”

Five minutes was more like five seconds, and John Wick stood still the door, bowed up and beyond infuriated at the scene, his cell phone clutched tightly in his hand. Part of me wanted to hide from him just judging by the look on his face, which was pretty terrifying, but by this point, I didn’t see any point in undoing what I had already done. Besides, a part of me felt oddly satisfied at his response. Noah glanced over at me, trying to hide a grin.

“Oh, I don’t know, John.” British Brad scoffed, stroking my hair a little. “She seems to be having a pretty good time here.”

“I am actually. Besides, I think Jasmine and the band babes were incredibly entertained by your stories. I would hate for you to disappoint your fans by going home with just a run of the mill blonde hoe.” Petty. Beyond petty. I was well aware that biting comment was coming from a place of humiliation and hurt, but as I glared at him, I saw a moment of realization slam into him pretty hard. Yeah, I had seen him, and he knew that now. I knew what he was doing, and he knew what I was doing. 

“Oh, and I was planning on taking these lovely men to Rouge, so I’m not sure I’ll even have time to see you tonight. I’m sure one of the babes can hold my place for me while I’m with these guys, right?” I smiled sweetly. 

He smirked at me, considering his response before saying,

“Actually, I’m in the mood to head out for the night as well. I’ll just have to join this party.”

This fucker really just invited himself to my domain. A chorus of yeahs went up throughout the room as John headed in, greeting all of the members of the other bands. Noah nodded, smirking and went back to drinking with his friends, leaving me to wade the waters alone. After his greetings, John headed back in my direction and leaned over the back of the couch, dangerously close to the others and to me as I lounges lazily against British Brad, who traced circles on my arm absentmindedly.

“I know what you’re doing.” John whispered in my ear. Goosebumps raised up on my skin, and I shivered at the sound of his voice.

“Whoa. Are you cold?” British Brad asked, rubbing my arm to generate some warmth. I glared at John, who smirked and looked down at his hands.

“I’m fine, but thank you for asking.” I looked John dead in his eyes and kissed British Brad on the cheek.

“I know what would make you forget all about the cold.” British Brad grinned, tapping my nose with his finger. “Anyone want some blow?” 

A chorus of yeahs followed as I rolled my eyes at that statement. He patted me, signaling me to get off his lap, and I moved to get off, and received a quick appreciative squeeze. As I stood up, British Brad said,

“Hey, love?”

I turned toward him and he crushed his mouth against mine. My eyes widened in shock, and I froze, and I swear that John Wick blew a gasket at this action. His lips drew into a thin line as I managed to push British Brad away from me. He and a few others headed to a table in the back of the room. 

John’s eyes darkened as he glared over at me, and I felt myself panic internally. It was clear that this vengeance was taken a little too far at this point, but I still wasn’t ready to let it go.

“You’re an entertainer, right?” I asked, and he seemed momentarily confused by the question.

“You know what I do.” He grumbled.

“Yeah. I figured it out today.” I pressed on impatiently. “This is what you do. You party and live this lifestyle of drugs and women.”

“It’s part of my job.” He shrugged.

“No,” The word came out in a rough, forceful syllable, “it’s a choice, John. There is nothing that says you have to do what everyone else does to be a great artist. And there’s certainly nothing that says you have to have these backstage rendezvous with women to show your appreciation to your fan base.”

He nodded his head, considering my response, before saying,

“I don’t know any other way to do this.”

“Right.” I nodded. “How did it feel?”

“How did what feel?” Confusion and irritation laced his voice as he moved closer to me.

“When you saw me in here. How did it feel?” I asked, closing the distance. For a moment, he looked uncomfortable at the sheer closeness between us, looking around at what the others were doing, before replying,

“I wanted to rip his arms off and pluck off each of his fingers.”

I crossed my arms, a sense of pride and sick accomplishment swelling in my chest, and I leaned up to whisper in his ear,

“I want you to imagine that every single night when your lying in bed with another blonde or when you have your arms around her telling her a story. I want you to see his hands on my face, my neck, grazing my body to my thighs...between my legs. I want you to imagine his lips, his tongue on my mouth, on my body, and I want you to remember that could have been you, but in all your creativity, intelligence, and effort, you didn’t know any other way to do your job than to spend your days away from me touching other women.”

“You act like we are together. Like I have to see only you. I said I wanted to see you again, but I never promised you monogamy.” Oh that was a low blow even from him, and I felt the fires of fury licking the underside of my skin, threatening to scorch his ass.

“You’re right. You didn’t.” I conceded. “And if you’re happy living your life with multiple women in different towns, then live your best life, John Wick, but just know, I’ll be living mine too.”

“Oh really?” The sarcasm was real in his voice, and that was the moment I could tell what I was saying was finally beginning to sink in for him.

“Really. It’s a two way street, baby.” I explained. “But I’ll tell you this—I don’t share. You’re either with me or you’re not, and if this isn’t the way that you want to go, then you need to let me go.”

When I leaned away, John was physically shaking, his hands balled up into fists. I couldn’t tell if it was anger, frustration, disappointment, or maybe a mix of all of that, but all of those feelings were creating a man scorned at this point. I reached up, touching his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and kissing him gently on the cheek.

“Thank you for the ticket. This really is something I will cherish forever.” And at that, I headed over to Noah, who turned to me, arching an eyebrow and said,

“I think you broke him.”

I looked back over at a still visibly shaken John, and said,

“He’ll be okay. I just wanted to thank you for everything. If it wasn’t for you, tonight would have been a total bust.”

“Don’t mention it.” Noah nodded. “You should know John really is a good guy.” 

I nodded, listening to him.

“He has a lot of enablers in his life who have created a dependency on this lifestyle he’s living. They’ve normalized it. He has a lot to figure out about the way the world really works, but I think he will come around.”

“I hope he does for his sake.” I sighed, and I reached up and hugged him, before backing out and leaving the room. I headed down the long hallway toward the exit, pushing the door open and heading out into the cool night air. I took a deep breath, feeling a jittery sensation sweep through me, and I took off toward my car like a shot, needing to release the anxiety, frustration, and anger that was practically radiating out of my body. 

Sprinting to my car made me realize a few things: 1. Alcohol and exercise absolutely do not mix. 2. If being petty was a legit career, I would probably be a millionaire and that was something I needed to work on. 3. John Wick would be the death of me.


	10. Forgiveness

Ch. 10

I woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing at an ungodly hour of the morning. Dragging myself out of bed and cursing all the way to the door, I pulled open the door to find John Wick standing at the door with a bouquet of red roses, some Tylenol, and a ginger ale. I stared at him for a moment, and then I promptly shut the door.

“Really?” He scoffed. I heard him lean into the door, knocking lightly. “Please open the door.” 

“No.” It was a simple but yet effective response, turning on my heel to walk away and go back to the warm comfort of my bed.

“Will you open it if I promise to take you out to breakfast?” He called out. I stopped dead in my tracks. Now he was talking about free food and food sounded freaking delicious right now. I considered this offer, my stomach making a sound argument against logic, and I headed back to the door.

“You really think buying me breakfast will make me forget about last night?” I growled...although to be fair, I would probably take free food whether I forgave him or not for being a dipstick.

“Maybe not forget, but hopefully lessen the ire?” He sounded hopeful and a part of me wanted to squash that hope out of spite but again, I had to repeat my mantra to myself: don’t be salty. Don’t be salty. Don’t be salty.

“Are you buying?” I purred. I heard him laugh a little and mutter something sarcastically about of course I would ask that.

“I’m buying.” He agreed.

“Will they have donuts?” I prodded.

“As many donuts as you want.” He promised.

“And coffee? The good kind. Not that crappy fast food kind.” I demanded.

“I will search the far reaches of the Yelp Universe to procure this magical coffee you speak of.” Dramatic. I liked it. I pulled the door open, and he was leaning against the doorsill.

“What do you want, John?” I crossed my arms, blocking the way in.

“Can we talk about last night?” He asked, holding out the roses out in a truce. I leaned against the door frame considering his request for a moment. He reached out, touching my face with his fingers, and I closed my eyes, willing myself not to fall for the sweetness no matter how sincere he looked. I sighed and then moved aside to let him in, heading to the kitchen to grab a vase and filling it with water. John placed the roses in the vase.

“I’m going to go change. I look rough right now.” I told him. He shrugged and said,

“I think you look beautiful.”

***

The place John took me was definitely outside of his comfort zone. It was a trendy little coffee bar called Winter Moon. Inside, the floors were all hard wood and the walls were industrial brick. It felt a lot like Rouge and was in a converted warehouse that was brimming with hipsters, college kids, and adults alike. Above the main floor where the coffee was sat a little loft with comfortable couches, bookshelves stocked with the classics, and a comfortable plush rug.

The minute I got out of the car, John laced his fingers with mine, and I felt a momentary flutter in my stomach. He kissed my hand, and I leaned in, saying,

“We don’t have to go here, John. It’s packed. People will see us.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Let them.”

And there he was again—the John Wick that my heart knew. I wasn’t sure why there were so many sides to him or why everything always had to be so complicated with him, but today it just felt different.

He pulled open the door, ushering me in by the small of my back as we approached the counter. It was packed and already everyone in the restaurant was staring at us, pointing, and taking pictures. John was absolutely oblivious and all I could think was thank god I changed into something presentable.

After ordering, John asked me to head up to the loft while he talked to the barista. On my way up, I was acutely aware of the number of women whispering and glaring at me. I seemed to be the object of their envy and their ire for today. I ducked my head and made my way to the empty loveseat upstairs just in time to see a barista asking the upstairs loft people to leave, which they all did. John made his way up to me, and I suddenly realized that he had made it to where we could be alone. Now there was the John I knew. Faint acoustic music and a solemn voice sang about tales of love and heartbreak as the barista came upstairs with our coffee in two jade glasses along with a small tray of pastries.

“Thank you for agreeing to come with me.” John said. As much as I wanted to retort back with a smartass response about him being lucky I even opened the door again, I settled on a simple nod. He reached over again to hold my hand, and I leaned over to pick up the coffee. He looked a little hurt by that gesture, but nodded, and started,

“I know it might not matter to you, but I want you to know that ever since I started seeing you, what you saw last night is the extent of my interactions with other women.” He said.

“It does matter to me.” I argued. “It matters a lot.”

I could see that the brash tone in my voice was slowly eating away at that tough exterior he pretended to have around me.

“I thought about what you said before you left—about other men touching you.” His hands clutched his dark jeans. “I tossed and turned all night imagining that, and the strange part is we barely know each other, but I don’t want to see you with other guys. The thought of someone else touching you—it just—I feel like you’re mine.”

I raised my eyebrows at that statement, completely caught off guard by that statement especially because last night it didn’t even seem like he cared at all. In fact, he was the one who mentioned that monogamy wasn’t his thing.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but all I think about is you, and when I’m in concert and working, it might be a short amount of time, but it helps me forget you. And when I try to forget you, I hate that feeling even more. I don’t want to imagine a world where you don’t exist or even be a part of that because it just comes rushing back and it hurts even more. I’ve never felt like this before about anyone.” He explained. 

“I get what you mean.” I told him, and I did. With any other man, I would’ve written him off after the first fuck up and been done with him, but there was something special about John Wick that kept pulling me back.

“Demi. I don’t know anything about you: I don’t know where you grew up, what your favorite color is, who broke your heart first, or why you’re here in the first place. All I know is that I want to see you. I need to see you.” He went on. “And not just that, but I want to be with you and only you.”

Speechless. My mouth fell open at those words, and I tried to recompose myself quickly, but I found myself sitting back against the couch. John took my coffee cup, gently setting it down on the table.

“I want to be with you, Demi. If that means no more women backstage, then I don’t care. I’ll head back to my hotel room after every show and you’re the first person I’ll be calling.” He told me.

“That’s a pretty bold statement from someone who just told me yesterday he wasn’t into monogamy.” I said. “Honestly, your mood swings are giving me whiplash.”

“I said and did a lot of things yesterday that I wish I could take back.” He said.

“You and me both.” I admitted, taking another sip of my coffee and setting it down. “Look, I don’t want you to change who you are, and I definitely don’t want you to isolate yourself. I’m just asking that the hand holding and arms around the shoulders—contact that you wouldn’t like another man to do to me—just try to limit that.”

“Well if it’s what I wouldn’t want another man to do to you, then I’m not touching any girl with a ten foot pole.” He smiled, and I laughed a little at that. Somehow, at the end of the laugh, I found myself tearing up a little. He brushed my tears away with his fingers, touching my cheek gently.

“All I know is I want to be with you, and nobody else, and I don’t want you to be with anyone else.” He explained. “I guess my two main concerns are: 1. Do you want to do this with me? and 2. Do you think you can handle being with me?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean life on the public eye. The scrutiny of the media.” He shrugged. “People will look for anything and everything they can to bring us down. They will publish hard truths and even harder lies. They will talk about you and pry into your personal life. They will dig until they can’t go any lower with you and then they will keep on digging.”

He brought up a good point. Was I ready for that scrutiny? Is that really what I wanted? Did I want to spend these days looking over my shoulder?

I sighed, considering what he asked.

“You want honesty?” I asked. John hesitated for a second and then nodded in response.

“Honestly, I don’t want to live my life in the public eye. I don’t want to have to worry about what I’m doing or why. In fact, there’s almost nothing that sounds worse to me than my life being put on blast by the tabloids.” I explained, and the sheer disappointment and dejection on John’s face almost shattered my heart.

“I don’t blame you.” His voice was quiet, and he stared down at his hands.

“But,” I went on, and he looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “The only thing that would be worse than a life in the public eye is living a life of regret, and I know that if I missed this chance to be with you and at least try, I would never forgive myself.”

“Then I’m going to ask you formally.” He said, fully turning his body toward mine. “Because I’m old fashioned like that. Will you be my girlfriend?”

I burst into laughter at hearing him ask that. He sounded like an insecure middle schooler, but I kissed his hands and laughed,

“Yes, John Wick, I will be your girlfriend.”

And at that very moment, his eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas and he grabbed my face in his hands, kissing me.

“Come on tour with us—with me.” He pressed, and I looked at him like he had lost his mind.

“Be with me.”

My first instinct was to say no because of my job. Stability was one of the things in my life i valued and I had a paycheck to worry about. Besides, living my days on a tour bus watching women throw themselves at John was not my idea of fun. John must have sensed my hesitation because he said,

“I know you have bills and things to take care of. If you’ll let me, I can help you out with that.”

As much as I hated depending on someone for my well being, I knew that if didn’t take this opportunity, I would regret it, wishing I had taken the chance when I had it.

I shrugged, smiling and asked,

“So when do we leave?”


	11. The Wrath of Jasmine

Ch. 11  
Rouge was about as jam packed as I had expected it to be for a Friday night. As usual, the bar was absolutely packed with women with the exception of a single seat—my seat. I had just put in my notice of leave, and my boss was thoroughly infuriated by that. Needless to say, the rest of the day was spent filing casework that probably had gone unfiled since the early 90s. On one hand, I would sleep well tonight after the tedious and exhausting process of working through hundreds of papers. As an added bonus, I still had a job to come back to after my vacation. On the other hand, I was pretty sure I was on clerk duty at work again for the next eon when I returned back to work.

As I approached the bar, Andy was just working his charm on a petite blonde near the end of the bar, who was leaning in and speaking to him seductively, her lips grazing his ear much to his appreciation. I plopped down into the seat, crossing my legs just as I caught Andy’s attention, waving to him slightly. He excused himself from the blonde and said,

“Well, if it isn’t the traitor herself.”

“In the flesh.” I smiled. “I met some fabulous bartenders while I was cheating on you. They were so good I questioned why I ever came here in the first place.”

“Thats a lie. There’s no one better than me.” He put his nose up in the air, and that’s when I noticed the petite blonde that he had been talking to staring at me in complete shock, her emerald eyes set on me as she leaned over, whispering to a friend and pointing at me.

“Do I have something on my face?” I asked Andy, who looked over at the two of them.

“Just your normal lovely overly exaggerated features.” He shrugged, and I lovingly flipped him the bird. He turned away with a smirk to pour whiskey and get a glass of dark beer for me.

“So. What happened between you and John the other night?” He wriggled his eyebrows at me.

“Wouldn’t you like to know...perv.” I jabbed the shot glass toward him and he fumbled to catch it, awkwardly holding it between two fingers. 

“You almost broke my glass!” He cried, firmly setting it back in the counter, crossing his arms like a petulant three-year-old. I laughed out loud at his ridiculous expression.

“Well you two seem comfortable with each other.” Speaking of petulant...Jasmine leaned on the bar next to me looking like she smelled something rotten.

“Oh Jesus Christ.” I groaned. “And what the fuck do you want?”

She glared at me for a moment, taken aback by that response.

“John just told me you were joining us on tour.” She hissed, crossing her arms.

“You’re WHAT!” Andy shouted, and the bar quieted down for a moment, everyone momentarily pausing to look in our direction and, subsequently, at me, who was the focus of the outburst.

“Ah shit.” I murmured, sinking down into the chair, covering my face with my hands.

“Yeah! ‘Ah shit’ is right!” Andy threw a dish towel at me in frustration.

“Did you really just throw a dish towel at me?” I barked, standing up and dipping the end of the towel in the beer, twisting it up to prepare for an onslaught of whipping. Andy backed up and I leaped over the bar, whipping him with the dish towel.

“Stahp! Stahp!” Andy yelled, and I burst into howling laughter at his plight, while most of the other patrons in the bar looked on with amused expressions. I stopped what I was doing, returning to my chair, where a shocked Jasmine stood watching.

“You’re a straight up psycho.” She said, looking back and forth from me to Andy.

“And you’re a straight up bitch.” I told her. “I mean really? You’re going to come stomping into my turf like that? What were you expecting?”

“Well, I would have expected to hear something like that from you.” Andy cut in, his voice awash with disappointment. 

“Why do you think I’m here besides the usual reasons?” I asked. Then, I turned my annoyed expression back to Jasmine.

“And as for you,” I growled, “what do you want anyway?”

“To let you know a few things.” She shoved the girl in the bar seat next to me out of the way. “First off, John made the decision to allow you to come without consulting me first. As his manager, I have to approve all requests before they’re made. I do NOT approve of you going on tour with us and subsequently refuse to fund your travels with us.”

I raised my eyebrows and Andy looked absolutely floored by her response as well.

“Second, as his manager, my job entails a few things. One of those things is to paint John in a positive light and to paint anyone who might hurt his image in as negative a light as possible, which I’ve already done for you.” She pulled her phone out, turning it toward me to reveal an article showing Andy and I hanging out together at the bar, Andy leaning in close as I said something in his ear, with the headline “JOHN WICK’S TWO-TIMING GIRLFRIEND: EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT DEMI.”

My mouth fell open in shock.

“Last, my job is also to ensure that Wicker is well promoted. As such, I have scheduled them for several events while they’re on tour. When they’re not playing, they’re promoting their new album. Several of these venues are closed to anyone not on a list which I have ensured that you will not be. In fact, I’ve told security in all locations, after releasing the article, that you are a danger to the mental health of my client and should they see you, they are to escort you off of the premises immediately.” She explained, tucking her phone back in her purse. “That also goes for John Wick’s personal detail, who were well informed about you last night. If they even see you near him, they will take you to the ground.”

She stood up from her seat, getting in my face, saying,

“I’m going to warn you now: if you haven’t figured it out yet, you fucked with the wrong woman. I am going to see to it that your personal image is shredded into a thousand pieces and burned into a pile of ashes. When I’m finished with you, you’ll wish you had just walked away from John Wick when you had the chance.”

She looked up at Andy, winked at him, and walked away toward the exit.


	12. Me and My Big Mouth

Ch. 12

“Yeah!” Andy shouted to her back. “Get the fuck out of my bar!”

Andy sighed, looking down at me as I struggled to process everything I just heard.

“Demi? Are you—“

“Don’t—don’t fucking talk to me.” I told him, putting my head in my hands and raking my fingers through my hair. Andy nodded, pouring another shot of whiskey, which I downed in no time. He sighed, heading to the other end of the bar, and I became distinctly aware of every pair of judgmental eyes on me in the room, gossiping about the whore at the end of the bar and her hot Latin boyfriend. Such a fucking double standard.

I had dealt with bitches like Jasmine often—too often. These women were smart, and they were pissed off most of the time, which made them twice as vicious. They knew what buttons to push, and they frequently hit below the belt. Immediately, I grabbed my clutch, heading to the back corner of the bar in that same darkness where I first met John Wick. I sat at the table, turning my back to the crowd, and I plugged in my AirPods, which I always had with me when I was working.

“Come on, Demi. You’re a badass bitch. You know the law inside and out and every loophole there is. There has to be something you can do.” My pep talks normally involved profanity in every sense of the word, and I whipped my phone out, finding John’s band and blasting them in my headphones before opening a notes app on my phone to begin my personal case against Jasmine.

***

My vision started to blur after the seventh shot, and exhaustion began to overtake me. When I looked up, the house lights were on and the bar was empty except for Andy, who was closing up the bar. I turned back around, content to continue my work. Behind me, I heard the mumbling of Andy carrying on a conversation with someone, though it was reduced to more of a hum as I focused on the task at hand.

A dark blur passed in front of my vision, and I looked up to see John Wick sitting in front of me at the table, dark circles under his eyes, a look of dejection painted across his face. I pulled my AirPods out of my ears, and he looked at me silently for a moment, before holding his hands out across the table. I placed my hands in his, and he sighed, saying,

“I’m sorry, Demi.”

I nodded, looking down at his hands, bringing them up to my lips and kissing them.

“Andy told me what happened. Actually, he called me about thirty minutes after it happened.” He explained. “I’ve spent the last few hours trying to fix this.”

“I’ve been thinking.” I said, struggling to meet his eyes, but finally looking up at him. He shook his head, sadness gleaming in his eyes.

“Please don’t.” His voice was barely audible. “I just found you. We just figured this out.”

“Maybe it would be better if I didn’t go.” I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. 

“Better for who?” He pushed. “I want you there, and I think you want to be there.”

“I’m going to make you look like a fool.” I told him. “Everyone’s going to think—“

“I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks.” He stood up from his seat, getting down on his knee in front of me, his forehead pressed against mine as he took my face in his hands. “I don’t care about them. I care about you.”

He kissed my forehead, and I felt a lump in my throat threatening to expose me as a fraud of acting tougher than I was.

“Please don’t leave.” He begged. “I don’t want to lose you.”

I took a deep breath, and nodded, and John pressed his lips to mine before he pulled me into a tight hug. 

“I see you’ve been listening to me.” He grinned, looking down at my phone, which was paused on his album cover. My face flushed a bright red, and I stuttered,

“Yeah, I—I really love you.”

His eyes widened, and he smiled, looking down bashfully, as I stumbled all over myself trying to recover from my stupid Freudian slip.

“Your band!” I cried. “Your band. I love...your band.”

“You love me, huh?” He prodded, elbowing me and grinning.

“That’s not what I meant!” I am an idiot. I am the biggest idiot in the world, and I had the hardest time believing that those words had even come out of my mouth, which humiliated me, shocked me, and scared me all at the same time. 

And that’s when it hit me: DO I love John Wick? 

I mean, why else would I be willing to go through all of this? Why would I keep running back to him? Why was I so willing to leave my job and jump on that tour bus with him? Why was I willing to find ways around all the restrictions Jasmine had put on me?

Holy shit. I do love him! I love John Wick.

“Wait.” I suddenly felt breathless and nauseated all at the same time, and John stopped smiling, and gently touched my cheek, suddenly concerned. I swallowed hard.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“I do.” I felt like laughing, crying, and vomiting all at the same time.

“You do what?” John was absolutely confused at that statement. I paused, looking him in his eyes, and I said,

“I love you.”

John looked shocked, and his face was a mixture of confusion, admiration, sadness, and joy. He sat back for a moment, processing what I had just said, and I wondered if I should have waited. I wanted to take those words and shove them all back into my mouth. I wanted to crawl under a table and wait for him to leave, but I couldn’t. I had said it, and he wasn’t ready, and I had to face that.

“I—I’m sorry.” I stammered, taking my phone and my clutch, standing, and swiftly heading toward the door, leaving a confused John Wick staring into a void.

***

Like in every failed love scene, it was raining on my car ride home. I hired a car to take my idiot self home, and resolved to hire a car to bring me back the following night to spend more time with Andy and to pick up my car.

When I got home, I burst through the door, slamming it shut behind me and tossing my keys on the couch. I ran straight up to the bathroom, turning on the shower to scalding hot and blasting some music with the shower speaker. 

Before making my way into the steaming hot shower, I plopped down on my bed, face down, and screamed into my pillow, punching the bed at the same time. After I felt like I had released as much as I could to the point where I had exhausted all of the adrenaline of rejection, I tore my clothes off, entering the shower and sliding to the floor.

“What the fuck is your problem, Demi?” I scolded myself. “You barely know him.”

And like all pieces of good advice, I reminded myself that affairs of the heart couldn’t be helped. They were what they were, whether you fell fast and hard or whether you took your time with the fall. Tears fell in torrents from the utter humiliation of the moment and the harsh twang of rejection. Damn me and my stupid mouth always getting myself into trouble!

I put my head on my knees, silently weeping in the shower, and to my shock, I felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around me. Startled, my head shot up, meeting, much to my perverted disappointment, a fully dressed John Wick’s eyes.

“Why did you take off like that?” He seemed a little hurt. I sniffled, wiping under my eyes as I realized what a melted makeup mess I must’ve looked like. 

“I panicked.” It was the truth. 

“Why?” He pushed a little more.

“Nobody likes to be rejected, John.” I told him, pulling me knees closer to my chest, suddenly self conscious about my nudity. The soft hissing stream of water from the shower head filled the thick silence of the bathroom as John leaned against the wall next to me.

“I didn’t have a chance to respond. You left before I had the chance to even say anything. What makes you think I would have rejected you?” He queried, and I shrugged.

“I guess I always just imagined a more immediate and elated response the first time I told a man I loved him.” I explained. He nodded, seeming to understand.

“Not everyone fits into a mold, Demi. Love is something that is pretty profound, and I don’t take it lightly.” I felt like he was scolding me like a child at this point, and I crossed my arms, setting my jaw, and saying,

“And I don’t take it lightly either. I said what I said and I meant it.”

“Good.” He said abruptly, and my head whipped to look at him. “Let me lay this out for you: when I saw those pictures of you and Andy, the first thing I wanted to do was rip him apart, and I started questioning why that was. Why did I feel so defensive? With anyone else, I would have shrugged her off and moved on. That’s when I realized that this thing between you and me was more than just a fond feeling.

“But then, Andy called me. He told me he was worried about you. He told me what Jasmine has done and told me that you were in a corner furiously working on something and that he had never seen you that way. He said it scared him, and that’s when I called her.

“I told her that if I ever caught anyone, male or female, trying to tear us apart again, I would take them out, and specifically with her, I told her she would be out of a job because I would leave the band.”

I felt like my eyes nearly popped out of my head at that statement, and I felt a new wave of panic, feeling like the Yoko Ono of Wicker, and I stumbled all over myself, saying,

“No! You can’t do that! You can’t leave the band!”

“The point is this: I started this band and this band has been my whole life for as long as I can remember. Its who I am, and it’s everything I know, but none of it would matter to me if it meant I couldn’t be with you. That’s when I realized that I’m willing to give up my life and all the things I love for you.” He explained, taking my hands, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes all over again.

“I love you, Demi.” And my heart melted at that moment, as I jumped onto his lap, furiously kissing him through a vicious onslaught of tears.


	13. Insatiable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW NSFW NSFW!!!
> 
> Smut in-cum-ing...what?

Ch. 13  
I slammed against the wall, my legs wrapped around John’s body as his mouth pushed hard against mine. My fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt, sliding the wet fabric over his arms, and dropping to my knees to make quick work of his pants and undergarments. 

John was beautiful in every way from his chiseled body to his cock, hard and ready for me. I reached up, gently curving my fingers around him and giving a small squeeze, and his head fell back with a gentle groan. Silently, I ran my hands up his body, pushing him toward the bed. He plopped down on it, setting himself up on his elbows to watch the show.

My hands wrapped themselves around his cock again, gently pumping up and down the smoothness of his shaft, taking my hand and massaging it over the head of his cock. John’s head fell back again and a loud moan escaped his lips.

With the top of my tongue, I traced his length, stopping at the head and wrapping my lips around him, slowly bringing him into my mouth, using my tongue to gently glide over the head of his cock, suckling a tiny bit, and coming down on him again.

Suddenly, I stopped, and I climbed on top of the bed, situating myself above his cock. He looked at me, a fire in his eyes unlike anything I had seen before. His hands ran up my body, appreciating the curves and edges, and he sat up and kissed me. Slowly, I sank down onto him, my groans suppressed by his mouth as I began riding him with a gentle fervor, moving my mouth to his neck. I ran my hands over his chest, pushing him back into the bed, and then I reach behind me, situating my hands on his knees as I rode him hard and fast.

John’s quiet grunts became vocal moans as I picked up the pace, feeling the slow buildup. His hands dug into my hips, guiding the pace as he thrust up into me. Suddenly, he sat back up, holding me close to his body and flipping me over onto my back.

“My turn.” He growled, nipping my ear as I took in a sharp breath. He thrust into my hard and fast, keeping a steady pace as I rocked my hips into him, feeling the delicious intensity as a dam burst inside of me, a climax hitting me quick and hard, my body quivering under him as he continued the pace, each thrust heightening the sensation until I was completely undone.

John’s thrusting became erratic as his climax surfaced, and he fell over the edge himself, spilling himself into me, calling out my name before crushing his lips to mine. 

Gently, he pulled out of me collapsing on the bed, and I curled up next to him. He stroked my hair absentmindedly as his chaotic breathing slowed, and he let out a satisfied sigh. I leaned up, kissing him before crawling out of bed to clean myself up.

“Demi.” He called out, and I paused on my way to the bathroom. He sat up, his hands on his knees, and I looked at him in question.

“I just wanted to look at you.” He grinned, and I felt a flush rise in my face.

“I—in case you’re worried, I’ve got an IUD.” I stammered, and he shrugged.

“I knew you were smart enough to look after yourself—even in the heat of the moment.” He said, lying back. I nodded, heading into the bathroom and coming back to find he had his pants back on, but no shirt.

“Aw.” I pouted. “Who said you could put your pants back on?”

He laughed, and grabbed my hand, pulling me into the bed.

“You’re much more beautiful naked than me.” He smiled, and I leaned on his chest, suddenly remembering why I was home so early in the first place.

“I really don’t know how I can go on tour with you with Jasmine hanging over me like that.” I told him quietly. “Besides, she’s made sure we won’t be able to be together anyway since she packed your schedule. I want you to be able to honor your commitments because your fans deserve that.”

John kissed the top of my head, stroking my hair as I nuzzled into his beautiful body. He sighed, nodding, and said,

“I don’t know what in the world I did that was so good to deserve someone like you.”

I smiled, sitting up on my elbow, and I put my serious face on, saying,

“Let’s be clear though. I know it’s going to be tough to talk because your schedule is going to be crazy. I don’t expect you to spend every waking moment that you’re off attending to me, and I would never ask you to do that. I want you to get the full tour experience and have an awesome time because you deserve it. You’ve put in a lot of work to get this far and you should enjoy the ride. 

“That being said, I would like a phone call, or even better, a Skype call at least once during the day if it’s possible.”

“Fair enough.” He said, holding out his hand for a business-like handshake, which I took, pulling him close to me for another kiss.

“But since you don’t leave for two more days, I’m going to require as much of your attention as possible.” I smiled.

“Oh really?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“Oh yes, Mr. Wick. Now that you’re mine, I fully intend on taking advantage of this beautiful body as much as I possibly can.” I straddled him, leaning down and kissing him. He nipped down on my lip a little, intensifying the kiss, and murmured against my mouth,

“You are insatiable, woman.”

A dark chuckle wound itself free from my lips, and I leaned down to his ear, my hands moving down toward his pants, 

“You have no idea.”


	14. Backlash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while! But now that things have slowed down a little, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year everyone!

I don’t think I was prepared for the odd sensation of loneliness that I felt when John left to go on tour. I mean, I had lived on my own for so long that I thought I would be used to it when he left or that nothing would really change after he was gone, but there was this nagging feeling that something was out of place, and I absolutely hated it. For the last three days, I had shared my bed with John Wick. I had known every inch of his body and the way that he moved, the sound of his voice in the darkness and the warmth of his embrace, and suddenly, the world felt a little colder now.

Going back to work was a welcome distraction and, even though he wouldn’t admit it, my boss was more than happy that I had chosen not to leave after all, although I was still stuck in the catacombs of the building sitting through old paperwork as promised.

John had warned me to stay off social media until the lies that Jasmine spread had simmered down and been mostly forgotten, but that didn’t stop the angry DMs or messages from unknown numbers threatening me. To be honest, though, that shit was nothing new for me. Occupational hazard. Still, I learned to watch my back, fire a gun, tase the shit out of anyone who came too close, or aim for the eyes with pepper spray all within my first year working in the job. I had developed a tough skin, and for the most part, most of the harassment I received on the job was a matter of facts and anger over the truth. This was new territory for me—wading through lies and animosity from total strangers.

Still, I had a strong support system in John and Andy, and for Andy, all the new attention had paid off. Women flicked to his bar by the dozen, some intrigued by the prospect of stealing a man, some hoping to gain access to John, and some just looking to fuck him. I was under no illusions that there was a vicious double standard happening at this point, and it wasn’t going to change, but that didn’t mean that I had to shape my life to fit the mold Jasmine had created.

So when my black Louboutins touched the pavement on my way out of my red Lexus, I prepared myself for the onslaught of emotions inside of Rouge. To my surprise, there was a line waiting to get inside of the building and a bouncer standing outside the door managing the crowd.

I whipped out my phone, texting Andy:

Me: “Uh, what the fuck is happening at Rouge right now?”

Andy: Chaos, but the best kind of chaos. Are you here?

Me: Yeah, but I’m not so sure I want to enter the carnage.

Andy: Oh no. You are not backing out on me.

The door to Rouge flew open and there he was in all of his Latin glory. A high pitch shriek started at the front of the line, and the women in line descended into a fit of screams, and honest to god, it was like watching a horde of zombies spot fresh meat for the first time in months, but Andy was eating it up. He smiled at them, waving and blowing kissing to a few women. He waved at me, motioning for me to come inside, and instantly I felt hundreds of pairs of eyes, some glaring, some envious, some glancing in curiosity.

“You’re a bad bitch.” I hyped myself up internally. I took a deep breath, smoothed out my skintight black dress, and strutted toward Andy, reminding myself to hold my head high, remembering that I had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel guilty about.

I felt my phone vibrate in my clutch and when I pulled it out, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of John’s name on my screen. I swiped quickly to answer the phone, plugging my other ear to hear him,

“Holy shit. If the world didn’t know that I had a supermodel for a girlfriend, they will after tonight.”

I felt my face flush bright red at that compliment and I sputtered,

“What are you talking about?”

My phone vibrated in my hand and at that text message, my mouth dropped open. It was a picture someone had taken outside of Rouge as I was walking in. My hair was blown out with perfect curls from the wind, my makeup was flawless with a deep coral pout adorning my lips with a gentle sheen, and my strut was on point, heels accentuating long legs. The deep v of my dress drew the eyes to my breasts, which looked fairly well endowed thanks to photoshop magic. I really did look like a Victoria’s Secret model. Whoever facetuned that picture was an absolute god in my book.

I put my ear back to the phone, my voice breathless,

“Someone has amazing editing skills.”

A husky laugh made my insides tingle. I knew that laugh. That was his sexy time laugh. He growled,

“No way, baby. That’s all you.”

“Where did you get that picture?” I inquired.

John sighed and said,

“Funny story. It was actually the wallpaper on Liam’s phone.”

I rolled my eyes,

“Of course it was. Perv.”

“Perv is putting it lightly when it comes to him. Anyway, I happened to see it and ask what the fuck he was doing with a picture of my girlfriend as his wallpaper, and he seemed genuinely shocked that it was you. He looked at the photo a good three or four more times trying to convince me it wasn’t you, and then finally admitted it.” John explained.

“I’m shocked.” I feigned.

“Yeah. I expected it to go on a little longer, but honestly Liam is pretty shameless about stuff like this. When Noah had a girlfriend who was a model, he had a picture of her in her underwear as his lock screen just to piss Noah off.” John recalled, laughing.

“And did it?” I asked taking a sip of whiskey. 

“Let’s just say after a week of asking, Noah took his phone and shattered it.” John explained. I raised my eyebrows—all things considered, Noah seemed pretty level headed...but he did help me scheme against John.

“Well, long story short,” John continued, “I told him to send it to me and get a new wallpaper. He agreed, but I don’t think he ever actually did.”

“Nope.” I heard Liam’s voice say in the background. I heard a slight commotion over the phone along with a few choice words shared between John and Liam. I waited for their boyishness to end, before saying,

“I guess I should be flattered.”

“Damn right you should!” John was a little out of breath after his escapades. “And to be honest, seeing you in that picture on his background made me feel really proud. Like that’s MY girl. And when I look at that picture and think of your body and all the things I got to do to it...”

He went silent for a moment, daydreaming about dirty deeds. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, squirming in my chair a little, admittedly more than a little turned on. I leaned down, covering my mouth with my hand, and purred,

“Getting a little riled up there, John?”

“Oh,” his voice was deep and gravelly, “more than a little.”

I smiled, pride swelling in my chest knowing that I had done that to him, and remembering that he was mine and mine alone to touch.

“Just you and your hand tonight, my friend.” I teased. John groaned, saying,

“You’re killing me.”

“I know.” I smiled. “Tell me. Where will you be this time tomorrow?”

“The land of fame and sex—Los Angeles.” I could hear the exhaustion in his voice already. “Have you been staying off social media?”

“Definitely.” I told him.

“Good.” John said. “On very rare occasions, they post the truth, but most of the time, it’s all a big lie—pictures taken out of context, words and conversations skewed to fit their narrative. I’ve been on both sides of the media—the saint and the sinner. I don’t want you to get caught up in that.”

“I understand.” I conceded, and I did. Slander and backlash were the cornerstones of high profile divorce cases.

“But,” he went on. “If there’s ever anything you do want to ask me, I’m going to ask that you do just that—ask me. Don’t accuse me. Don’t assume that what you see is what’s really there.”

I felt puzzled by his statement, and I nodded, saying,

“I’ll remember that.”

“Well, Demi. I’m going to get some sleep while I can.” He said.

“Okay.” I felt awkward for a moment, wanting to tell him I loved him, but I was unsure of how he would respond, especially in a bus full of childish band mates. “Talk to you tomorrow then. Bye.”

“Wait. Aren’t you forgetting something?” He pushed a little.

“Uh. I don’t think so.” I squeaked out. John laughed at that and said,

“Ooooooookay then. I’ll remind you.”

I paused, my heart beating out of my throat.

“I love you.” He told me, loud and proud and much to the delight of his band mates who suddenly started cackling and making fun of him.

“I love you too.” I smiled, giggling at the sound of his band mates in the background assaulting him.

“Oh. Nice of you to rejoin the land of the living.” I looked up at Andy, who had his arms crossed, glaring at me intensely. I scoffed at him, rolling my eyes, and saying,

“Oh. Fuck off.”

Andy quirked an eyebrow and did a sexy little walk over to the bar. He leaned forward across the bar, just inches from my face and, for a moment, I felt my breath hitch in my throat. My heart skipped a beat and my face burned. All around me, I heard dozens of girls whispering excitedly, and a few making orgasmic “oh-my-gawd-so-hawt” type sounds.

“Mi rosa hermosa,” he purred, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, and looking me in my eyes. I could tell that he was about to make an idiotic remark, but the minute he looked into his eyes, I saw this moment of realization hit him, and it felt like we were in the middle of this incredible intimate interaction in public. His fingers grazed my cheek before he cleared his throat and backed away, looking around the bar at all of the attention we had just garnered.

I shifted nervously in my seat, standing up, my legs shaking a bit as I regained my composure. What in the actual fuck was that? I touched my hair, feeling the urge to run out of the bar. Instead, I excused myself to the restroom, locking myself in a stall and taking in deep breaths.

The restroom was essentially a revolving door of women tonight, some worse off than others, but all of them seemingly having the same type of discussion:

“Andy is so hot.”

“I can’t believe that slut is dating John Wick.”

“Did you see the way Demi looked at Andy? There’s no way they’re not fucking.”

“John Wick can do so much better.”

“Andy can do so much better.”

I had heard the same bouts of conversation so many times I wanted to vomit, scream, and pull my hair out all at the same time. But it was another conversation that pulled me out of the sea of shit talk and into the world of drama.

“Did you see that John Wick posted a new picture?” I heard the girl ask. The tell-tale sound of her purse unzipping to grab her phone sounded in the semi-silent restroom.

“Ho-lee-shit.” I heard another girl enunciate each syllable as a silence fell over the restroom.

“Do you think she knows?” I heard the first girl inquire.

“Which she are you talking about?” The other girl pressed, and I heard a giggle at that. The fuck does she mean which she? 

“Demi.” The first clarified.

“If she doesn’t, she will soon.” The second responded. There was a sound of agreement between the two and then the bathroom was silent again. My heart sank and an eerie sickness settled into my stomach. I felt a sense of dread sink into my soul, and so the seeds of doubt were sown.

“Have you been staying off social media?” His question slithered into my brain. I put my hands over my ears, trying to will the echoes of that question to go away. This was going to drive me insane, and I knew that if I didn’t figure it out for myself, I wouldn’t be able to let it go.

But...

But...what if I did see it? What if it hurt to see? Would it be better to just let it be? Would it be better if I just resigned myself to not knowing and just assumed that whatever it was would be misunderstood or taken out of context?

Would I be able to let it go?

I found myself reaching for my phone, shaking fingers swiping the screen and heading toward my social media. My heart was beating a million miles a minute as I typed in “Wicker” into the search bar, watching the band’s picture pop up at the top of the list. I pulled my finger back for a moment. Did I really want to do this?

Absentmindedly, I tapped on the band’s name and waited as their information loaded. Reluctantly, I scrolled down to the first picture, and paused, my brain struggling to register what I was seeing before everything inside of me went up in flames.


	15. The Truth

“If there’s ever anything you do want to ask me, I’m going to ask that you do just that—ask me. Don’t accuse me. Don’t assume that what you see is what’s really there.”

I stared down at the picture in front of me, wondering how it’s possible that what I was seeing wasn’t what was really there:

John lying shirtless in a large bed with a fluffy red velvet down comforter, his leg sticking out of the comforter, bare up to his hip, the blanket covering his waist down; a red velvet canopy surrounding a deep mahogany four poster bed. Red brocade pillows supported John’s head, his eyes closed in blissful sleep, a sheen of sweat covering his chest and forehead; a slender French manicured hand rested gently on his chest; a swath of blown out blonde hair rested on his shoulder; a beautiful face partially covered beneath that honeyed blonde hair, her bare back turned exposed to the camera, her chest pressed firmly against his own; the outline of a toned slender leg wrapped itself around John’s waist.

The caption of the photo was simple: Los Angeles: The Land of Fame and Sex.

What a familiar phrase that had been uttered from John himself just tonight.

The shaking in my hands had intensified, and I felt an incredible sense of sheer and total rage that followed.

“Don’t assume what you see is really there.”

Then what the fuck do I see? What is it? This bitch.

I flew out of the bathroom, the door to the stall slamming with a vibrating force against the wall. The three girls reapplying makeup in the mirror jumped, and one of them screamed in shock. The first whirled around ready to fire off an insult, but, upon seeing my face decided against it, shooing her friends out of the bathroom.

I leaned against the counter for a moment, forcing myself to take deep breaths and steadying myself. Then, for the first time in a while, I took a look in the mirror. My face looked haggard and worn, a deep pressed crease knitted my brows together. My lips were pressed into a firm line.

“This is not who you are.” I scolded myself. “You do not deserve to be miserable. Eleanor Roosevelt has it right: no one can make me feel miserable without my consent. And I refuse to consent to this. I won’t. I won’t do it.”

I straightened up, standing a little taller than before and reminded myself,

“You are a boss ass bitch. Act like one.”

And I strode out of the bathroom. The minute I did, it was like everyone in the room had turned to look at me. Hundreds of pairs of eyes darted from phones to me, and hundreds of voices gossiped. 

“Okay.” I said to myself. “Let’s take this one step at a time back to the bar.”

Andy was wiping down a glass, and I could see the strangest look in his eyes: it was a mix of pity, concern, and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I focused on him, allowing everyone else in the room to disappear. I had to focus on him, to make him my focal point and my goal.

On the televisions above the bar, an entertainment news show was playing, and John’s recent post was plastered on the screen. 

“Don’t.” I heard Andy say as I approached the bar.

“Don’t what?” My voice was shaky, breathless.

“Don’t look at him.” Andy said, and I felt his warm fingers on my face as he turned me to face his eyes. “Look at me.”

The pad of his thumb ran across my cheek as I leaned into his hand, a lump rising in my throat.

“Don’t assume what you see if really there.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, then gently took Andy’s hand, moving it away from my face. I took a deep breath in, clearing my throat, and saying,

“I’m okay. But I would love whiskey and a chaser of dark beer.”

Andy nodded, turning away from me reluctantly and grabbing a top shelf whiskey. Inside of my clutch, my phone began to buzz incessantly. At first, I ignored it, but then it rang again and again and again to the point that I pulled it out, intending to shut it off and noticed I had missed 15 calls from John and that I had 4 voicemails. I scoffed as Andy sat down my whiskey, not quite prepared to listen to John’s voice at the moment.

But a nagging voice inside of my wondered, “What if he’s sick?”

Sassy pants voice answered back,

“Then I hope he shits and pukes on himself at the same time.”

“But what if something serious happened to him?”

“He doesn’t know what serious is until I get a hold of him.”

“What if he was in an accident?”

“Hopefully it cut off his di—“

“You okay, Demi?” Andy sounded concerned, and I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice.

“Me? Oh yeah. Fine. Totally fine. Absolutely. Why?” I stammered, awkwardly grabbing for my drink only to fumble with it before catching it, shooting it, and slamming it with a mighty force on the bar. 

“Oh yeah. Nothing is wrong at all. You just almost simultaneously shattered my glass and smashed a hole in my bar, but no big deal. Perfectly fine.” Andy snatched the glass away from me, looking completely annoyed, and I burst into laughter at the indignant look on his face. It was loud and boisterous and filled with anxiety, and anger, and absurdity. 

I picked my phone up off the bar seeing several more calls, voicemails, and now even text messages from John and one from Noah. I swiped to read the text from John:

“Demi, please answer the phone.”

“Where are you?”

“Are you screening my calls?”

“I really need to talk to you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Please pick up.”

And then from Noah:

“Yo, are you okay? John has been pacing like a maniac and freaking out trying to reach you.  
Let us know you’re okay.”

The voice messages were similar, but the desperation in his voice was loud and clear. I sighed, finishing my dark beer and excused myself to the stock room, dialing John’s number. It rang once before I heard John’s tense voice ask,

“Demi?”

“It’s me.” My voice was quiet, almost nonexistent.

He let out an audible sigh of relief and said,

“I was so afraid when you didn’t pick up the phone.”

“I could understand why.” I said to him, and the tone in my voice implied that sense of understanding wasn’t coming from a place of concern for my welfare but more from concern for his fleeting sense of monogamy.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” His voice was thick with sadness and disappointment.

“Everyone saw it.” I conceded. There was a long pause on the other end before he said,

“I know there’s nothing I can say or do that would erase that image from your mind. I know it’s likely you’ve already formed an opinion about it, but I want you to know the truth.”

I waited, willing myself to listen with an open mind before making a decision.

“After the show last night, the band went out to a party.” He started. “We just found out that our album went triple platinum as of yesterday, and the label wanted to throw us a surprise party.”

“That’s great news, John.” I sighed, smiling briefly for a moment.

“Thank you.” He said. “When we got there, it was a crazy party. There were people everywhere and the venue was enormous. Everywhere I turned, people were handing me drinks and patting me on the back. Everyone wanted to take a shot with me and take a picture with me to celebrate. There were bands there I hadn’t seen in years, and people that had been flown in. It was just...amazing.”

His voice sounded so gleeful as he was recounting his memories.

“But there came a point in the night where I started to feel all of the alcohol. I made the rounds one more time, thanking everyone for coming, and most people where shitfaced anyway, and then I excused myself up to the room that was there for me.” He explained.

“Okay.” I felt my heart start fluttering because I knew what was coming next.

“Then, I shut the door, climbed into bed, and went to sleep.” He went on, before pausing for a long pause.

“And then?” 

“And then, when I woke up, there was a girl I didn’t know who had wrapped herself around me.” He explained.

“She just appeared then?” The annoyance in my voice was palpable. 

“Look. I’m telling you what happened. I went to sleep and when I woke up she was there. I sat up in bed asked her what the fuck she was doing, and told her to get the hell out of my bed.” He now sounded agitated.

“I see.” I had shut down by this point, not wanting to really engage in this nonsense.

“She tried to persuade me that she was some Miss USA and that she had always had a thing for me. Asked me if I thought she was pretty.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“Asked me if I would fuck her because she wanted to feel me in her.”

“Stop it, John.”

“Told me she had been touching herself all night waiting for me.”

“I said stop it!”

My yell echoed throughout the silence of the storage room. John paused, and I could hear him sigh.

“I told her that I had no interest in her. That she was a beautiful girl, but the only person I wanted to touch was the girl I love and the thought of her or any other girl besides you touching me, especially while I was unconscious, repulsed me.” He continued. My heart skipped a beat at hearing him say he loved me again. There was another long pause between the two of us.

“I know it’s not easy to love me.” He began again. “That there are so many things you have to worry about, but please have faith in me. Believe that I would never intentionally hurt you and that I really do care about you.”

“John...I—“

“Please don’t say anything. I needed you to know the truth, and I know you’ll need some time to process this whole thing and decide what you believe is true.”

I nodded, sighing deeply and saying,

“Thank you.”

“Take your time. I’ll be waiting. I love you, Demi.”

And with that, the line went dead.


	16. Working Through Things

Ch. 16  
It had been two excruciating days since I had last spoken to John, and in those two days, I had learned a few things about myself: 1. The best way for me to distract myself during the day was by diving headfirst into my work. So, I put on extra hours and worked overtime—anything to get my mind off of what was and wasn’t true. 2. At night, I went to Rouge, where I kept my mind off of things by watching Andy do what he did best and partaking in my favorite drinks.

The problem was when I was lying in bed at night, my mind was racing. I tossed and I turned in bed thinking about John’s hands on my body and her hands on his body. It drove me insane thinking about the two of them in bed together, and I usually ended up getting out of bed, lacing up my trainers, putting my headphones in my ears, and running until my legs felt like they were going to fall off and I practically had to crawl in and out of the shower, and I passed out by the time my head hit the pillow.

The next day, I woke up and did it all again, but today was a little different. The beginning of day 3 without John started with me heading into work and going straight into the catacombs, but when I made it to the bottom flight of stairs and flipped on the light, I found my boss sitting in my office chair next to a pile of newly sorted files. His deep brown eyes had a sadness to them, and I paused at the door, adjusting the strap on my purse.

“You’re early.” He muttered. I nodded, shifting uncomfortably and noticing that he wasn’t making any attempt to move.

“I just have a lot to do, so I wanted to get started as soon as possible.” I tried to force a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“That seems to have been the case for the last few days. Not only are you starting early but you’re staying until the security guard essentially kicks you out.” He pointed out, crossing his arms and leaning back in my chair.

“If you’re worried about paying me for overtime, you don’t have to worry. I’m not looking for that. I just want to get my work done.” I said, moving toward the desk and putting my purse down.

“I’m not worried about overtime.” He said, looking straight at me. “I’m worried about you.”

“Because I’m trying to get my job done quickly?” I felt thoroughly confused.

“Because when you come in, you look like a zombie. Because you haven’t taken a lunch break or dinner break in three days. Because I haven’t seen you smile in at least that long.” He stood up, putting his hand on my shoulder, and I looked down at my feet.

“I just feel like I’m making such good progress—“ I began.

“Save it.” He cut me off. “I want you to go home right now and stay home until you’re in a better place.”

I was stunned by his command, and I stood staring blankly at him for a moment, trying to comprehend what he had just said. Finally, my legs and arms moved robotically and I picked up my bag, nodding and heading toward the door, before looking over my shoulder and saying,

“Thank you.”

***

Tonight, for once, I felt like my run was going to be brief. I laced on my trainers, put my headphones in and off I went, but instead of listening to the normal audiobook I usually listened to, I found John’s band on my music app. 

When I pushed play, John’s voice rang into my ears, and I felt a wave of warmth come over my body. I missed his voice. I missed his touch. I missed everything about him. 

As my feet pounded the pavement, I asked myself truthfully if I really believed him. Would he lie to me? Did I know him well enough to justify his answer or end it with him because I was willing to risk it?

All of the answers seemed to flow through my body at once like an endless stream of thoughts and worries.

As I made my way through my normal route and looked around home, I had resolved to call John when I made it home. But as I neared my house, a dark figure leaned against the the outside door to my apartment. I pulled my earbuds out, squinting right get a better view of the figure, but he was completely covered in shadow. For a moment, I paused, feeling a little nervous, my hand feeling as though it wanted to crush my phone.

Suddenly, the figure turned and began to walk toward me. I began backing up quickly, keeping my eyes fixed on the figure until it stopped under a streetlight, and my heart stopped with him. There, under the streetlight, was John Wick.

“John?” I whispered, coming to a halt. It couldn’t be him. He was on tour. I closed my eyes and reopened them only to find John still standing there, his brows furrowed together in worry. I only paused one beat more before I took off at a dead sprint, throwing myself into his arms. I felt John sigh, locking his arms around me, and burying his face in my hair.

“I missed you.” He murmured, kissing the top of my head. I turned my face up toward him, taking his face in my hands, and pulling it toward me, crushing my lips to his. His lips grew feverish over mine as he backed me into the light post, grabbing my ponytail and pulling my head back to get a better angle to kiss me. I tangled my fingers in his hair before breaking the kiss, leaning my forehead against his.

“I’m sorry.” I felt my eyes begin to well up with tears. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

John nodded, taking my hand and saying,

“Let’s talk inside.”

***

“So,” I started, shutting the door. “What are you doing here? What about your tour?”

“We played our last concert in California last night. This morning, we debriefed and spent the good part of the afternoon talking about Vegas, which is our next stop. We play there tomorrow night.” He explained, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hooks near the door.

“What about your band though? Shouldn’t you be with them?” I felt like I had taken him away from something he should be doing.

“Honestly, we were all doing our own thing tonight anyway. I’ll be leaving for Vegas tomorrow afternoon.” He clarified, wrapping his arms around me.

“What about Jasmine?” I asked.

“What about her?” John seemed slightly annoyed by the mention of her name.

“Won’t she be slightly pissed that you just sort of peaced out and came back here?” I pried.

“I honestly don’t give a shit about how she feels about me right now. She’s already made a mess of enough things for me now.” He griped, pulling me closer.

“But what about—“ I began, and John cut me off with a deep kiss before I could protest any longer. He lifted me up, placing me on the back of the sofa, tracing his fingers down my spine, and gently tugging on my ponytail to expose my throat, which he kissed heatedly much to my absolute delight. He pulled me back up to let me look in his eyes.

“Let me tell you what I do give a shit about.” He growled, nibbling at my ear, before whispering, “I give a shit about the fact that the girl I love had to deal with seeing her boyfriend in bed with another girl.”

He picked me up, moving me into the bedroom, and slamming me on the bed, kissing me roughly, and saying between deep kisses,

“I give a shit about the fact that I haven’t heard from this girl that I love, that I worship, that I can’t stop thinking about, in three full days.”

He pulled off my shoes and socks, making quick work of my running tights and panties. My hands fumbled to get his belt off, whipping it through his belt loops and thrashing it onto the floor.

“I give a shit about the fact that for three long fucking days, I thought that you were through with me. That we were over when we had just begun.”

He unbuttoned his pants, sliding them off to reveal a very hard John Wick. My breathing at this point was near panting, and my heart was ready to beat out of my chest. Gently and purposely, he positioned the head of his cock, dipping it slightly into my wet cunt, and oh my god, it was a feeling that I had sorely missed.

“I give a shit about seeing those fucking pictures of Andy touching your face at the bar the night that you saw that picture, and I was ready to come here and rip his hands off because he touched this girl that I felt like was only mine to touch.”

He pulled out slowly, easing the head of his cock in just a little more. He leaned down, his breath in his ear causing goosebumps to raise up against and a shiver to course through me.

“But most of all, I give a shit about you. Just you. Fuck everybody else.” He panted into my ear. I rocked my pelvis forward, trying to take him deeper into me, but I felt him smile against me, and pull out, asking,

“The question is: what is your decision?”

I sat up, pulling him up with me, then laid him down on the bed, climbing on top of him, pulling my shirt off and letting my hair down before I said,

“Let me think about this.”

At that, I sank down on top of his cock without warning, and he threw his head back, moaning loudly. I rose up again slowly, coming up to the head of his cock as I purred,

“My boyfriend gives me this story about how a girl just suddenly appears in his bed.”

I slammed down on top of his cock again at that, slowly raising back up.

“He says nothing happened, but the two of them are naked in bed together.”

I slammed back down again, riding him furiously, enjoying the feeling of John’s cock filling me up and relishing in the sound of his groans as he dug his fingers into my hips. I rose back up again for a moment, continuing,

“He tells me I should believe him. He tells me that he loves me and would never lie to me, but I can’t help but wonder if things would be different if the roles were reversed.”

John sat up abruptly, wrapping his arms around my body. He brushed a lock of hair away from my eyes and said,

“If the roles were reversed, I think it would be different.”

“Oh?” 

His expression changed from a fierce hunger to a gentleness, and he said,

“There is nothing you could do that would change the way I feel about you.”

With that, I completely lost control of myself, and I crushed myself against him, kissing him feverishly. At that, John leaned me back and began pounding into me at an uncontrollable pace. 

***

Laying in John’s arms in the aftermath of a vigorous session of sex was like being in a dream. The room had a gentle blue glow to it, and the silence in the house and the warmth that I felt at this moment was probably the most relaxing I had felt in a long time.

John sighed deeply and said,

“Do you believe me?”

I opened my eyes, looking up at John, and I said,

“I don’t have any reason not to believe you. You’ve never lied to me before.”

John nodded absentmindedly, his fingers running through my hair, and he said,

“I would never lie to you, Demi.”

I nodded, feeling a little drowsy and somewhat uncertain. John wrapper himself around me, his beautiful body pressed into my back as I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

***

I woke up to the feeling of my hair being gently stroked. My eyes fluttered open, the blurry golden room softly coming into focus as I looked up at the god himself sitting on the chair next to my bedside. I smiled at him, and reached up for his hand, which he laced in mine.

“My flight is in about two hours.” He told me, kissing my hand. I sighed, frowning at that statement.

“It’s already time for you to leave?” I whined. “But you just got here! When will I see you again?”

John looked down at my hand in his, frowning a little, and he said,

“I’ll be on your for the next four months. I may have a few breaks in between but not many.”

I nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear. I knew what I had signed up for when I agreed to be with a John, so it wasn’t fair to make him feel guilty when he left. This was his job, and, for now at least, this was my life.

“Okay.” I smiled, forcing a grin and trying to make it as genuine as possible. “I’m so happy you came to see me.”

“Don’t.” John griped, and immediately my mind flashed back to Rouge and Andy, his fingers on my face. My breath caught in my throat as I squeezed my eyes shut, willing those invasive thoughts away.

“D—don’t what?” I stammered, and John caught my eye.

“You don’t have to pretend to be happy when I’m leaving. It’s okay to feel sad and ask when and why and feel frustrated.” He explained. I reached out and touched his face, saying,

“I do feel those things, John. But I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to date you. It’s not said for me to make you feel bad about what you do and what you love.”

“But I feel bad.” He said abruptly. “I feel sad and frustrated because I have to leave you. I don’t like knowing you’re here all alone when I should be with you.”

“You should be with the band you were committed to before you committed to me. See your promises through and then come back to me.” I pushed, and he gave in reluctantly, nodding in acquiescence.

And when I stood at the front door to my house watching John Wick open the door to the driver side of his rental car and pause for a moment to look at me, I felt a sense of clarity between the two of us—like we had figured something out that had been a mystery to us all along.

“I love you.” He shouted over the roof of the car, followed by a sly little grin.

“I love you too, John Wick.” I called back, looking down at my feet and smiling.

And John Wick got into his car and drove away. I wasn’t naive enough to think that I would be able to go four months without seeing John in person and so began to devious plans to see John Wick in person.

Unfortunately, thanks to Jasmine, getting to actually see him would be tough thanks to her cock blocking me at every possible turn. This would involve scheming—and I knew just the person for that job.


End file.
